


European Road Trip

by ZeeBirdy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 3 dudes 1 Volkswagen, Adventure & Romance, Arguing, Child Death, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluffy Ending, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, HankCon Reverse Big Bang, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Making Up, Marriage Proposal, Road Trips, Suicidal Thoughts, TW: mentions Child Death, TW: mentions of suicidal thoughts, Vacation, silly fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 21:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20628035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeeBirdy/pseuds/ZeeBirdy
Summary: Connor's never been outside of America, so Hank takes him on a trip. An easily excitable deviant android, an out of shape hopeless romantic man, and a dopey St Bernard stuffed inside a red Volkswagen...what could go wrong?





	1. Fleabag.

**Author's Note:**

> I had the pleasure of being partnered with @vulcansketch for the Hankcon Reverse Big Bang and I had a ball writing this! Coming up with senseless fun for my boys was the best, and to have such a talented artist too for inspiration was fabulous! 
> 
> I hope you like!

Connor tugs tirelessly on Sumo's leash trying to get him out of the car, struggling more than he cares to admit for an android of his strength. The stubborn canine shies into his collar and refuses to cooperate and Connor can’t help but laugh, having a good humour about the whole situation unlike his partner.

Sumo’s on edge about being somewhere new, or that’s what Connor believes. Sumo is a smart dog though, he knows when something is out of the ordinary, more specifically when _someone_ is out of the ordinary. Hank doesn’t take him out in the car often. Only when there’s something important. Hank’s also not a subtle man anyway, but in the presence of a companion he’s had a good few years, Sumo knows wherever they are is because of him and that Hank's bad mood is caused from the ordeal. He doesn’t like upsetting his owner...he didn’t mean to get fleas.

Hank’s currently checking into the hotel, having stormed off leaving Connor to console Sumo in his distress. He decides after one too many attempts at pulling him out the old car to let the leash go and just level with him. He sits on the edge of the seat and runs his fingers through the ruffled hair on Sumo’s head. The dog stops whining.

“Hank won’t stay mad at you for long. You are his pet after all.” He rakes his fingers in the thick fur at Sumo’s chin and scratches him wholeheartedly, glad to be rewarded with a wag and lazy eyes like he could drop of asleep in a matter of seconds. “He’s just territorial of his things. It’s like when I try to take your ball from you-”

“Are you comparing my damn house being fumigated to his shitty fucking chew toy?” Hank snaps, frowning miserably as he stands above Connor, motioning for him to move. He does so and Hank takes charge, yanking Sumo out the car forcefully. Sumo doesn’t fight him however. "_Fucking_\-- Why'd he have to get so friendly with that pack of pugs, huh? Slobbering bunch of fleabags, now not only is my dog covered in bald patches, but my house is infested with an embarrassing amount of damn bugs!" He feels a shiver roll through his whole body as he recalls the torturous morning when he woke up with itchy red bites all over his legs and arms.

Connor scurries to his side as they enter the hotel and snatches Sumo's leash. The dog relaxes, no longer being dragged across the floor shamefully, and slows down. He looks around, taking in the space and letting himself relax for a moment. It dawns on him like a short breeze that a year before he wouldn’t have been allowed to even step foot in this building - back when Androids were banned from such establishments because they were seen as a lesser people. The hotel has a strong personality, with a heady ambiance. He looks up at the high raised ceiling that moulds its shape around the design of the building and whistles, impressed. Central of the reception the ceiling is raised by glazed stone pillars and the drywall is replaced by a multitude of coloured stain glass, cascading down a beautiful rainbow where the afternoon sun calls down upon them. The hotel is styled similar to how a child might crudely draw a castle, with thick side buildings running on the outside and a shorter centre. The rooms follow in a square, surrounding the elegant rose garden that Connor can see fragments off through the windows past the reception desk. Climbing Roses, David Austin Roses, Floribunda Roses, Grandiflora Roses- it’s an explosion of colours calling his name through the glass, begging for his green thumb and interest to shower them in the praisal they thrive off.

There’s so much to take in, he feels overwhelmed. The small voice in the back of his head binges the flurry of information. Even regardless of the fact he pays his A.I’s diagnosis no attention, it still rings through, the glare of his scanners prominent in the back of his eyes as he looks around. The information overload makes him a little dizzy with giddiness.

The reception desk is fine furnished mahogany wood, sources from the 1900s and shipped over from England. The silky red wine colour matches the rest of the lobby in its rustic, modernised vintage style, and Connor's blown away by the elegance of the entire décor. Compared to Hank's messy one story house, Connor feels like he's suddenly royalty.

"Hank, can we even afford this place?!" Connor asks under his breath as Hank takes the keys off the reception woman. He smiles to himself, peacocking down the halls he’s directed toward. It’s not often Hank can really see that look of bewildered shock, and it’s a stroke to his ego letting Connor believe he’s some undercover millionaire with all the riches to spoil a cute sugar baby like himself (rather than the reality which is a friend who works within management owed him a favour).

"Don't you worry your pretty head about that." He leans over to kiss him on the cheek.

The halls of the hotel stretch miles long, looking never ending. Carpeted floor with patterns and colours similar to the spiral circles of a tree's age, walls that look as glossy as a glazed doughnut, portraits of people neither have any idea who they are but wear apparel of someone with importance, and dark red doors with vintage gold numbers nailed into the wood. Connor has to give Sumo an encouraging tug every few seconds where he stops to sniff underneath the door.

When Hank opens their door Connor steps in with caution and looks around the scene wide eyed and giddy. The room is impressively large, definitely bigger than Hank’s own bedroom back home. The bed is a queen size, centre of the room with a dark silk duvet cover thrown over, and fluffy white pillows accessorising the head. The headboard is padded with upholstery, protected by red and brown tartan cotton, and overhead holding ivory net drapes is a black canopy frame. Connor walks toward it and runs a hand down one of the drapes softly, the tips of his fingers fading away. He watches how the material slips over his digits, grains his matte white body and makes them look like they’ve been put through a filter.

He gasps when Hank sneaks up behind him. He rests his hands on Connor’s abdomen and kisses his jaw. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen curtains before, babe.” He laughs, but his amusement falters when Connor doesn’t immediately respond. “Uh, hello?...earth to Connor, _helloooooo_?”

“I’ve never felt voile before. Come to think, no, I don’t believe I have seen it either.”

Hank raises his brow, snorting through a muffled laugh. He walks toward the room door. “My shitty linen curtains aint so fancy, my apologies. You keep amusing yourself whatever else is here while I go get our suitcases.” He closes the door behind him and the room swallows up the ambiance. It leaves Connor to materialise an echo chamber made of his inexperience, amplified by all the new data surrounding him.

Water gurgling in the pipes within the walls, sliding the smooth plastic card into the slot on the door, the shock of bare feet on the tiled bathroom floor, bleach lingering on the porcelain furniture, the chorus of squeeks that emit from a mattress taking pressure, door handles jolting and hushed murmurs as other guests settled down into a temporary home of sorts…there was _so_ much.

Connor sits on the edge of the bed and flattens his hands against the comforter. Sumo promptly rests his head beside Connor on the bed and looks up with glassy puppy eyes

“This place,” Connor looks around, combing his fingers through Sumo’s fur, “is very impressive. Do you agree, Sumo?”

The dog doesn’t answer, obviously.

“It does feel like something from one of Hank’s old books, you’re right.”

~ ~

  
Connor lays on Hank’s chest while the older man reads over his shoulder. The hotel room TV plays low in the background some trashy reality show - ‘_Plastics Surgery_’ it seems to be, where androids expose their back alley non-government regulated biocomponents for the world to see - but both men are more interested in their own comforts.

Connor listens to the soft thud of Hank’s heart. How blood squelches and rushes through his veins, how his bones near to creak where the thunder of his heart rattles them. Connor’s hearing is of course ten times as advanced as humans. Listening to the complex inner workings of Hank’s body does more than enough to soothe him. When Hank takes a deep breath and Connor’s head rises with his chest, he nuzzles deep against the light crease of his pecs. Hank twirls strands of Connor’s hair with his finger between turning pages. He’s peaceful, no longer frustrated.

Sometimes Connor wonders if Sumo snores of his own volition just to make sure his presence his remembered. The thunderous sounds near to shake the ground where he sleeps at the foot of the bed. Hank had taken him on a long walk just to calm him, and wanted to make sure he’d tucker him out enough he wouldn’t be pacing the room. Finding a hotel that allowed for pets let alone a 200 pound beast like Sumo was near impossible without Hank’s handy contacts. He’s happy though, wriggling against the carpet floor before finally passing out on his back, his legs in the air like soggy noodles.

When it gets to around 6 in the evening, Hank’s belly begins to rumble as loud as the St Bernards snores. Connor sits up and stares at his midsection, grinning when he meets Hank’s coy expression.

“Perhaps we should venture to the hotel’s restaurant?”

Hank isn’t about to fight that idea. The two get themselves out of bed and ready for a nice meal. It’s been a long time since they did a date night, usually both settling for take out food and bad movies is as romantic as it gets, so with the opportunity presenting itself, they take it by the horns and ride. Connor wears a skin tight white collar shirt with suspenders and skinny navy blue chinos, and on his arm as they walk through the restaurant is a disgruntled bear of a man wearing his Joe Browns Shadow guitar shirt that’s embarrassingly a little tight around the belly, fitting jeans and has his hair tied back and glasses on. It’s rare for him to wear either in public, but seeing how Connor was all heart eyes in their room when he was reading, he thought to keep them.

Besides, he needed something a little extra. Beside Connor, Hank looked like an elderly man from the home Connor is scheduled to take out for routined activities.

Connor notices him shift and grumble as they sit looking through the menu. Hank’s pulls the fabric around his belly to try stretch it, give him more breathing room. Connor’s a little too smitten to watch his boyfriend fumble around self consciously.

He reaches forward and takes one of Hank’s hands. The peach of his skin recoils back instinctively when their fingers intertwine. “Hank, look at me.” He waits for Hank’s undivided attention. “You look handsome tonight. Please stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying, I’m…” He pouts, looking at their hands. Connor’s long slender fingers covering the mirage of scars littering his knuckles, he imagines people looking at them and seeing them as representation for Beauty and the Beast. Connor is a gift to him, a treasure with soft features and wide eyes. He’s elegant and kind, always looking out for Hank, helping him without being condescending. He gives his heart over for Hank to tend to and never made him feel guilty for being a little shy with vulnerability. He exhales with a defeated laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Connor pulls back and holds up the menu to view. “What would you suggest we have then?”

“Not like you can eat a whole plate anyway!”

Connor shot Hank an aggravated glare before scanning the menu again. After the revolution Cyberlife had come out with several new advancements for certain androids to beta test before they got released on the market. Connor decided he wanted to be one of their guinea pigs when he caught wind of the deep sleep chip. He's gone through a series of tests - sleep, feeling temperature, alternative aged body transfer, and now digestion.

For Connor the excitement came from feeling closer to Hank. Having the extra plug ins gave him depth, empathy, and that meant everything when once upon a time all he had was emptiness. The life of void zeros and ones was something he now fears for dear life, and the further he can get from that is just a little more reassurance he's safe to keep Hank company; he can give back best of himself and know it means a lifetime of happiness.

He grunts and puts the menu down. "Fine, I won't order."

"No, Con, I'm sorry, please-"

"I'll just share _your_ plate." He grins smugly and snickers under his breath when Hank huffs - there's no way in hell Hank's willing to share food, he'd rather fork out the money for Connor to waste half his food due to his tiny electronic digestion than even think about sharing.

When the waitress comes over Hank orders a double decker cheeseburger with extra bacon and fat curly fries, and Connor goes for the crispy king prawns fries starter and a small glass of red wine.

"Wine?" Hank raises a brow. His lips curl with wicked delight. Connor rolls his eyes.

"It looks like something people order when they celebrate or feel important."

"And what the fuck are we celebrating? That Sumo's a gross oversized bug magnet and was sent by Lucifer to ruin my life?"

"Hank, that's mean."

"I'm kidding! You know I love that mangy mutt."

"Still, please apologise when we return to our room. He's been very sorry all day and you've been incredibly unkind. He can not help picking up fleas."

Hank can fight back. He very temptingly wants to but decides against it. It's rather sweet seeing this protective, nurturing side of Connor that looks after Sumo like he's their child.

The food is exquisite. Connor discovers he does in fact rather like spicy squid, likes how the crispy batter around the tentacles crunches between his teeth and feels soft inside, almost slimy. Hank lets him try some of his beef burger, faking reluctance to annoy Connor. He doesn’t find it quite as appealing, but it’s most likely the overwhelming amount of ketchup smothering the patty bun that throws his sensors off. He pretends it’s delicious though. Hank ends up finishing his squid too when Connor reaches his stomach components limit and finds no problem voicing his dislike. Connor asks him why he finished the plate if he didn’t like it, and Hank haphazardly says how he hates wasting food.

Really though for Connor, the experience of being at a restaurant with Hank is for the experience of human social etiquettes. He wants to know what dating is like in all its glory, not just from what he’s read or seen in movies. When the revolution came to an end, Hank and Connor fell into the ease of comfortable monogamy. The wild, adventurous honeymoon stage filled with passion and excitement sped past them faster than light. Connor knew almost everything about Hank already and for Hank he would learn alongside Connor the new personality traits that came with his deviancy. Finding out who he is beneath his artificial intelligence is a whirlwind of test and error, learning through experience and hoping what comes is positive, and left in the oblivious but caring hands of Hank well-meant laziness…

Contentment, routine, comfortability in the known, and thankfully in the beginning all of that was unknown to Connor. Now though, he's used to couch dates. He's used to bad Chinese takeaway, reality television where everyone is chiseled abs and long stripper poles for legs, and walks to the park while Sumo chases squirrels. He wants to see more and feel like a part of the world, and more importantly, he wants to do it all with Hank.

Connor drinks wine and feels a ticklish buzz. He gets up and follows Hank to the ballroom attached through the archway, and spins under his arm to be tugged against his chest. Soft music plays and carries them, a classic slow jazz piece that sweeps Hank off his feet and has him leading Connor. Connor gawks around the room and takes in the sheer elegance and grace dripping from the crystal chandelier, admires the glitz of the polished stage lit up by an array of lights and royal red curtains, and peers between the flurry of loved up couples dancing around them. It looks like a scene straight out of _Romeo & Juliet_ or _The Great Gatsby_. The music moves through him, plucks his wires like the strings on a cello and moves him.

He rests his head on Hank's shoulder. Hank's hand stiffens against his hip. His feet keep moving but he feels like he’s frozen in time, like static is wrapping around his limbs and filling his lungs, and all he can make out is the electricity that flows through Connor’s body. Music settles in their chest, it runs through their veins and fills their heads, and even though they’re surrounded by a world of people, they’re oblivious to life around them until the song stops.

“Are you having fun?” Hank asks as they walk off the dance floor hand in hand. Connor nods frantically.

“Very much. Why have we never done this before?!”

Hank laughs, glances over to the bartender and signals for a whisky. “Dinner and dancing? I don’t know to be honest...it was something me and my ex did once in a blue moon for special occasions.”

“What else did you do? Is this typically something romantic partners enjoy? My search results indicate so- why have I never thought about this before, dates and activities?” Connor’s LED spins through every shade of yellow imaginable, sunny skies to evening sands, his thoughts race. Hank laughs awkwardly as he takes his whisky and avoids Connor’s direct line of sight, sipping leisurely on the drink.

“We’ll make more time to have date nights from here on out. It was nice,” he throws down the rest of the drink, exhales heavily with a shake of his head and slams the glass down on the bar. “I think we best check of Sumo. He’s probably dying to stretch his legs and take a piss.”

Connor cuts in “You check on him!” in an excited outburst, bouncing slightly on the spot. “I’d like to watch the band for a little while longer if that’s okay.”

Unsurprisingly it is. Hank gives him a soft kiss on the cheek with a caring squeeze before walking away. Connor watches him until he’s completely out of sight, then turns around to watch the band again. He finds them utterly enchanting in a way he never thought he may. It’s not as if music is a new concept to him or the idea of instruments being played by real life people, but rather seeing a group of performers on stage thriving off their passion, it fills Connor with an indescribable euphoria. Where the ground quakes beneath the weight of the drummers beat, Connor focuses all his attention to let it rattle through the metal of his limbs.

He takes his time to enjoy the night, waltzing through the ballroom past the array of couples, running down the hallway leading to the reception area and twirling past a couple of kids just as excitable as him. Pushing through the double doors to the courtyard garden he grabs some of the brochures in a stand and starts flicking through them. Holiday brochures, showcasing around the world destinations and attractions of things he’s heard of but never seen; barely even researched enough to know at the drop of a name. He meanders through the lavish greenery and flicks through the array of holiday packages and resorts jumping out at him. Spanish wine tours, 6 month cruises, Italian fine dining, a week of Westend shows for half price - so many to process.

As he comes up to a bench where an elderly couple sit, he slowly approaches them and waves. They wave back, cautiously though, unsure what Connor’s intentions may be or why he’s appeared so suddenly. They’re both dressed elegantly: she wearing a sequined mermaid gown with her long gray hair falling down her shoulders, with a beautiful pearl necklace to accentuate her grandeur, and he dressed in a 50s pinstripe suit and matching fedora. They look homely.

“Good evening,” Connor formally introduces himself and sits beside the woman, offering her his many brochures to look through for herself. The wife looks back at her husband amused but takes his offering all the same. “I was wondering if you would give me your opinion on which of these looks the best!”

The man leans forward. One of his front teeth is gold and there’s a wide gap similar to Hank’s. “Looking to go on vacation, lad?” He takes one of the brochures from his wife and holds it at a distance, straining to see the text. Connor nods frantically.

“I’ve been considering it for the last few hours now, desperate to make a decision. I have never left the state before, and being here seems very exciting! Are all hotels this fun?”

Connor wonders what he said that was so funny, as the pair chuckle in unison. The woman takes Connor’s hand and squeezes it, handing him back his brochures. “Well tell us what it is you would like to experience. Is it nice weather? Good food?”

“Mary, Androids don’t eat.”

“Oh of course! Thank you, Greg.” She smiles softly at Connor. “Sorry dear.”

“No need to apologise. I suppose I would like to experience as much as possible. Everything that I haven’t seen in person. Which,” he fumbles with the brochures again, “is almost everything I have seen in these pamphlets.”

The man (evidently named “Greg” as he’s just learnt, and her, “Mary”) chuckles deep from his belly and sits back against the bench, putting his arm around his wife. “Plan yourself a road trip, my boy. Rent a car and drive where the wind takes ya. That’s a real authentic experience.”

Connor leaves the couple a few minutes later having taken Greg’s words to heart. He continues to amble through the gently lit garden, fingers brushing through the flower hedges and blossom trees hanging low, and thinks long and hard about “authenticity”.

Androids had been built with a superiority over humanity. They were hyper intelligent without emotions to falter with their knowledge. They could know anything within a few seconds, and experiences didn’t matter. Remembering those hollow days now is hard on Connor, but it’s also surreal to imagine a time before wanting. When he plays back the data and POV footage he captured before the revolution, he sees so many things that should have excited him but couldn’t. First time hearing music, the first time feeling rain, the first time riding in a car - such small things that for him were foreign and new, and he had no capability of interest. The first time even a flicker of deviancy could be seen in his A.I was when he first stroked Sumo. The warmth of the gentle giant, how soft his fur was against his palm, it rushed through Connor’s sensors like fire and sparked something unknown deep within. He resisted reading into the error due to more pressing issues, but maybe if he had paid attention to the details back then, deviancy would have come earlier. Nevertheless, to picture a time before emotions scared him…

He desires an authentic human experience more than anything. He wants to cherish the values of humanity alongside Hank and know the importance of everything on an emotional level. He wants to experience life through his eyes, with his hands, to the beat of Hank’s heart with the backdrop of his smile.

When he finally makes his way back to the hotel room, Hank’s completely bare par a pair of pink boxers. He’s reading a book while his hand hangs off the bed to pet Sumo who’s sat beside him, staring out the open window. It feels like home, Connor thinks. His thirium pump whirls a little faster for a second as he takes in the sight. He feels safe and sound, like he always does, but the scenery is different, and that’s exciting - even if it’s as mundane as a hotel room within the same city. Connor wants to experience more with the man he loves and the dog he calls his own. He wants more dances, more meals, more flower gardens, with different stars above and foreign summers and exotic winds - he wants it all.

Hank looks over at Connor eventually and snickers. “You zoning out there, babe?” He pats the empty side of bed for Connor join him. He does, still staring off blankly at nothing. Hank runs his fingers up and down his back. He looks down at the collection of pamphlets in Connor’s hands. ‘What’cha got there, hun?”

Connor snaps back to reality and gawks at Hank. He looks at the pamphlets and holds them out for Hank to take, snuggling in close as he starts rummaging through them, having a look through. “They’re for other holiday destinations! I found them in the lobby. What’s your favourite?”

Hank shuffles up the bed as he laughs under his breath. He lets out a heavy exhale and flicks through the different pamphlets, clicking his tongue against his top teeth. Connor hangs over him, an unnerving wide eyed look, like a child who’s just asked an invasively innocent question. Eventually he picks one at random, jabbing the paper with his thick forefinger. “This one, yeah.”

Connor reads the choice. “The Van Gogh Museum?” He repeats, looking at Hank quizzically. The older man nods. “This is the pamphlet about the Netherlands. I rather like the scenery there by the looks of things, and its historical background is quite exquisite.”

Hank chuckles, dirty, and Connor looks at him confused. “I went in my 20s. All I remember is eating a whole tray of brownies I didn’t realise had weed in them and spacing the fuck out.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Once again you prove you’re a victim of your own gluttony.”

Hank fakes an upset gasp. He grabs Connor round the waist and flips him over on the mattress, pinning him under his body weight. Connor laughs, putting up no fight as Hank holds his hands either side of his head. There’s a dark lust deep in the blue of his eyes, airy and playful that makes Connor’s wires twist with warmth. He bites his lip, glancing between the eyes he loves so much and the lips he wants all over his body, and exhales the faux breath caught in his artificial lungs.

"You know what hotels were _really_ good for back when I was a kid?" His sultry voice goes straight to Connor's spine and makes everything good tingle. He throws the pamphlets on the floor and wraps his arms around the back of Hank's neck.

"Show me, Lieutenant Anderson."

Hank growls and starts kissing down Connor's neck. Thankfully Sumo has fallen fast asleep. The soundtrack of their love making is his obnoxious, fog horn snores.

~ ~

  
Connor watches Hank over his monitor, pretending to do work while he looks through holiday websites and packages for the best deals. He hasn't been able to get his mind off the idea, and if there's one thing true about Connor that no one can deny, it's his persistence to learn everything about anything he discovers.

When she had returned from a vacation with some of the other RT800 models, Chloe told Connor all about the excitement that is traveling. He hung off her every word, fascinated by every intricate detail from what she wore to how she packed to the material of the seats on the airplane. Chloe said airports were like a maze. She told him all about the new state of the art technology recently installed for androids that want to fly in order to scan them at airport security. She said the x-ray walk through tickled.

He so desperately wants to get out into the world himself. With just a slither of experience living vicariously through pamphlets and tales told by receptionists when he walked Sumo, Connor is hungry to learn more about the world he inhabits. Computer screens and paper can only convey so much.

The only thing stopping him? Hank. Not consciously, but his presence is enough to throw Connor through a vortex of concerns.

Connor tries to get Hank's attention without actually asking for it. This results in airy sighs with differing volume levels and weight behind them. Hank seems immune to his negotiation tactics but after a couple dozen forceful sighs, Hank finally slams his hand on the table and looks over at Connor, frowning under his heavy brows.

“Just tell me whatever the fuck is on your mind already.” He grunts through his teeth. Connor smiles back at him, oblivious to the clear fragile annoyance on his partners face.

“I was just remembering how enjoyable our weekend was away and how much you must miss it too.”

Hank shrugs. “Was okay, yeah.” He snickers. “That really why you keep sighing? I figured you’d have something important to tell me.”

“It was just rather enjoyable doing something like that with you. I’ve never had the experience, and I’m grateful I got to do it with you.”

Hank raises his brows quizzically but cracks a smile all the same. “So what’s the catch, aye? Is this reminiscence leading somewhere or shall I just smile and nod?”

Connor rolls his chair out and slides up beside Hank’s desk. He takes Hank’s hand in his own. “I would love if we could go on holiday somewhere and have more experiences together. I’ve only seen Detroit, Hank, and looking through all those holiday brochures at the hotel made me yearn for more. You said yourself you loved going away as a child with your parents-“

“Mostly because I was a kid at the time, and everything was exciting and new.”

“But that’s what everything is like to me, Hank.” Connor chews the inside of his cheek as he stares back at Hank. The older man softens, seeing the pained desires resonate like solar beams in the brown of his eyes. Connor squeezes his broad hand and strokes the ridged bumps of his knuckles with his other hand’s fingers. “There’s so much I’ve never seen, and I know there’s a plethora of information I can access inside my A.I, but that’s so robotic and stale. I want to _live_ the experiences with you at my side. I want to tell you how I feel when something new intrigues me in the moment, and I want to listen to you explain details of humanity I don’t understand. I want _more_ date nights like the restaurant, _more_ new memories to add rather than repeating the same Friday night with Chinese food and late-night television. Hoping you don’t get food poisoning for the _millionth_ time again isn’t quite as exciting as sitting with you in a 5 star restaurant with expensive champagne.”

Hank chuckles. “You prefer when I squeeze into a suit than sat shirtless on our old couch?” He winks when Connor rolls his eyes.

“I enjoy the sight of your body plenty, but the change was also mighty welcomed.”

Hank exhales loudly and pushes away from the screen to face Connor straight on. He runs a hand through the front of his hair, the long locks sweeping through his fingers to fall like net curtains around his face.

"There's a lot of planning needed for a vacation. We'll need to put Sumo in a kennel or find a dog sitter."

"Can't he come with us?"

Hank blows out an exasperated laugh. "You kidding?! For a week off I'm not putting him through the stress of traveling!"

"Well…" Connor squeezes desperately on Hank's hand. He can feel the pressure rising, the consuming want of something just out of reach and the determination to succeed in getting what he wants. "Maybe we could go away for longer! Who says we have to take a week off?"

"It's gonna be hard getting so much time off as lieutenant-"

"What about retirement?!"

It comes out of Connor's mouth before he even realises what he's suggesting, and everything that could be sounding off alarm bells are ringing frantically inside the echo chamber of his A.I. Suddenly their humble space in the noisy precinct is shattering like a soprano solo to clear glass. The notion isn’t so far fetched or unheard of. Hank himself has said about leaving the force and packing up on countless occasions, but a majority of the time it’s in jest, coated in annoyance. He’s never really put much thought into the seriousness that comes with retirement. For so many years his job has been his whole life, the foundation in which he built himself off, so letting that go is terrifying. In his darkest hours when everything came crumbling down he was able to plant his feet down in the fact he had a job and that was the only saving grace that gave him purpose. If he retires…

Does he become nothing more than a haunted old man survived only by an overweight St Bernard and an android with anxiety issues?

Hank swallows hard, hands growing clammy in Connor's grip. He feels like the walls of the DPD are closing in on him. "Not sure my pension will cover me the rest of my life, Con. I'd probably end up needing to get whatever I can, and being a lieutenant pays better than retail."

"I could keep working and earning for us both."

"Oh jeeze, I can't expect that of you, Connor!"

"Why not? I offered."

"Yeah but c'mon. That's a _lot_ of responsibility... maybe I could just pull a few favours with Jeff to take two months off."

Connor wants to say something else, but he doesn’t know what. Truthfully, the fact he said that outloud to begin with - where did it come from? In his excitement of adventures and fun, he’s left Hank with a life altering decision to ponder on, and if it's the first time he's thought about it, it's probably rattling around the walls of his skull intensely.

Connor doesn't notice Hank lean over to pull his hand to his lips. His LED goes from red to yellow, before transcending back to its best calming blue shade.

"I'll see what I can do, okay?"

Connor takes that as enough. It's a lot to digest, and he's in no rush to see the world. He'd rather spend his time at home with Hank and Sumo then jet set all over the place on his own.

~ ~

A few weeks go by before Hank mentions vacationing. Connor made the deliberate effort to cease all conversation on his end, though he still desperately wants to experience the plentiful beauty that must be beyond America. He thinks about taking time out with Nines, logging their journey together and finding new experiences with someone else who's green to most of civilisation outside their own red, white and blue bubble, but Nines isn't as enthusiastic for new experiences. He thinks about joining the Chloe's on their next vacation to Malta, but their plan was to sunbathe and experience what people referred to as a "girls holiday", and that meant Connor wasn't welcome this time around.

He didn't grumble though, his time would come.

However, one day when Hank and Connor get home from work, Connor notices something planted conveniently underneath Sumo's dog bed. He takes his coat off while staring at it, and just when he thinks about scanning, Hank's strong hands link around his waist and squeeze.

"Can you turn off your robo eye and just pick it up instead?"

"How did you--"

"You're predictable, Con. I see you staring it out, I know it's only a matter of time before you'll X-ray that shit." Hank teases, leaning in over Connor's shoulder to kiss his cheek. As Connor wriggles away to pick up the paper, Hank slaps him on the ass. Connor frowns but laughs.

"Why bother hiding it then?" He asks while bending down to retrieve the surprise. It's a letter, concealed in a white envelope with his name crudely written on the front like a child's birthday card. As he opens the seal he sits beside Hank on the sofa and pulls out a card, not looking at it's decor just yet.

"I thought you might surprise me for once." He gestures his head at the card. "Whatever, doesn't matter. Just means I save the whole '_what is this_' act I had planned."

"That sounds funny though,” He stops reaching into the letter and rests it on his lap. “Would you do it anyway if I play along?”

Hank blew out a mirthless laugh and rolls his eyes. “C’mon, just open it will ya-”

“_Please_?”

Hank’s never been able to say no to those big, puppy dog eyes Connor’s perfected. He sighs heavily and stands up, stretching out his arms dramatically. The joints in his back click and he grunts as a swift pain spasms up his spine. His back faces Connor.

Then he spins around theatrically and gasps, arms out gesturing at the envelope in Connor’s lap. A smile threatens to curl his lips but he holds it together best he can. Connor however has no reason to pretend and laughs out loud as if Hank’s said the funniest thing in the world.

“Well well _well_, what on _earth_ could that be?!” He slaps his cheek lightly, looking around the living room. Sumo pads over to investigate the commotion. “It seems to me that someone has sent you a letter! _Oh_ how exciting, but how did it end up under dear old Sumo’s bed?!” He kneels down and ruffles the extra skin hanging around his pet’s face. Sumo dances on the spot, panting as he tries lapping at Hank’s face, growling softly under his breath. “What’s that boy? It’s from you?! Wow, how generous, but where’s _my_ present?”

“It’s funny because Sumo hasn’t said anything!”

Connor has a habit of explaining jokes outloud, as if his processors need to double check before registering humour. Hank looks at him with a deadpan expression, seeming irritated, but cracks a grin nevertheless as Sumo nuzzles into his neck.

“Quick as a whip you are.” He clambers his way back onto the sofa and grunts settling back into his spot, with Sumo now sat between his legs begging for more attention. He lazily strokes his head. “Let’s see what Sumo got you then.”

Connor pulls the card out finally. The cover is a personalised printed picture of him and Connor this Christmas just gone, wearing matching ugly sweaters while Sumo rests his face on Connor’s shoulder. They were sat on the floor at the time opening presents. He remembers taking the picture on Hank’s phone to send Chloe and Nines, wishing them a Merry Christmas, too. He got pictures back from both of them - Chloe doing a peace sign while in bed and a shot of Nines’ Harlequin Great Dane asleep in front of the fire. Connor was in heaven that day, thirium pump racing like crazy every time Hank’s fingertips even brushed over his hip. The photo feels infinite to look at, crystallising time and replaying the euphoria he feels spending his life with Hank. It makes his chest swell, his wires and bolts creak as they fall apart and leave him light as air. The crumbling is on par with smooth apple tart, not demolition derbies.

Then he opens it, feeling the pressure of Hank’s eyes, and is greeted with perfect cursive handwriting and jolted flowers doodled at the edges. It’s Hank’s handywork:

_My darling Connor,_   
_ You have made me the happiest man in the world. Before you, I thought I had lost all hope and meaning to life, but I see now that a second chance does exist, and it lives in that glowing circle in your chest. It lives in your laugh, your smile, your eyes, your soul, and most importantly it lives in our fingers laced together. I want to give you the world, but I can’t do that if you haven’t seen it…_   
_ So let’s go. I’ve planned and booked for us to go on a trip around Europe together (and Sumo), so you can see all the things you’ve never seen, and I can watch you every step of the way. Everything is ready - I’ve booked our time off from work, the travel is covered and I even treated us to fancy travel insurance just in case. All you need to do is say yes and pack._   
_ So...how’d I do? Are you ready to see the world with me?_

Connor lifts his hand to his mouth but doesn’t quite cover it in shock. He is though, pleasantly, as tears begin to brew in his eyes. He holds the card to his chest and looks at Hank in disbelief, waiting for static codes to alight his vision and bring him out of statis. It doesn’t. All there is is Hank’s dopey, timid smile and hands playing with each other.

“Is it really okay for both of us to take the time off work?” Is the first question that breaks through the cluster, simultaneously reaching out for Hank’s hand. The older man has to laugh, bringing his palm up to cup Connor’s cheek. His thick thumb wipes away a stray tear.

“It’s absolutely fine. Don’t go questioning Fowler or checking with anyone either, ya hear?” He sounds strict, in a way that contradicts with the moment, but it’s not strong enough to derail things. Connor’s head’s too wrapped up in joy to question his tone.

“I can’t believe you’ve been planning this! This is remarkable-- I-I-I don’t know what to say-”

“Say you’re happy.” Hank lifts his other hand to hold Connor’s face in both hands, edging closer so their foreheads touch. “Say you’ll come with me, annoy me with facts, read me directions on a map, look up at the stars on the boot of our rental car...say you’ll come.”

Connor’s face could split he’s so unbelievably jovial. An uncontrollable laugh falls from his mouth and he nods, meeting Hank’s lips with a kiss. “Yes, yes, of course! Oh Hank, you have made me so very happy, I don’t know how to repay you--”

Hank cuts him off with a passionate kiss. His hands snake to the back of his neck while Connor’s run through the long grey locks of Hank’s hair. They moan quietly as the kiss deepens, and Connor falls forward with Hank as he settles down on the couch. Sumo pants heavily beside them, eventually barking when they fail to pay him any attention. A laugh breaks the moment, and Connor ruffles Sumo’s ears accordingly.

“A family road trip...I can’t wait!”


	2. Left Side.

Connor hates watching Hank in distress, and even worse than that is enduring the sight of both Hank and Sumo whimpering to one another, worrying on the other’s behalf. They stand in the _PetAir_ check in room where other travellers say their farewells to their animals in preparation for their flights. Sumo sits in front of an outrageously large dog crate while nuzzling against Hank’s neck, and Hank sits on the floor hugging him tight, telling him to be good and to “try not shit in the cage”. Connor of course has his own worries about leaving Sumo, but he knows it has to be done, and they went out and bought a tile to attach to his collar so they could track his location and well-being while travelling. Connor has it hooked up both to his A.I and Hank’s phone.

“We’ll be back before you know it, old boy.” Hank does one last check to be sure the tile is secure to the collar. “And I’ll buy you the best damn steak of your life as a treat. How’s that sound?”

Sumo barks in response before promptly licking Hank’s face. They laugh.

“He has his favourite chew toy to keep him happy too, Hank. He’ll be okay.” Connor leans over and picks the stuffed toy up off the floor. A slightly flittered pink bear with a missing arm and heavily chewed ear - the second Connor picks it up Sumo pulls it back and holds it in his mouth protectively, wagging his tail. Connor smiles. He rests his hand on Hank’s shoulder. “See? Please do not worry.”

“I can’t help it, Con,” Hank pushes against his knees to stand back up and groans as his joints click. He looks down at Sumo with a sad smile as his best friend stares at him with hyper focus, his tail softly bouncing against the floor. “I’ve never done anything like this. He’s a big dog, ya know? Not easy to transport around, and he gets worried without me-- 9 hours on his own aint gonna be easy!”

“I know. I wish we could buy another seat and have him with us on the plane, but this is the only way.” He wraps his arms around Hank’s shoulders and pulls him in. Hank had been up for hours the night before fretting about the flight and Sumo’s well being travelling in a cage surrounded by loud noises and dark shadows. The one thing that can always calm Sumo when he’s in a frantic state is knowing Hank is nearby, being able to jump into his lap and slobber all over him. In all honesty though, the same could be said in reverse (minus the slobbering), making Connor question the true intentions of Hank’s nerves. He could tell the obvious state his boyfriend was in, but androids can only read so much information. The capability to read minds and confirm his suspicions? No dice.

Hank watches as the airport staff take Sumo’s leash and walk him through the doors. They get to see a peek into the security hold up, with cages lined up and other dogs barking and sitting patiently. The last thing they see is Sumo’s tail wagging away as he walks beside the stranger who’s now responsible for his well-being for the next few hours. When Connor looks over at Hank he sees the older man has his hand over his chest while holding his breath. He lets his lungs relax when he feels Connor’s fingers slide between his and squeeze his hand. He tries to focus on the feeling of Connor’s hand in his own - the smooth almost cushiony feel that keeps him rooted - but all he can think about is Sumo's soppy brown eyes staring at him so lovingly, whimpering for his owner; alone and confused behind metal bars.

"You know Sumo, he'll be asleep for most of the journey. Just think about how excited he'll be when we arrive in Ireland!"

Hank laughs under his breath. "You're right. I guess I'm being more selfish than I wanna admit." He signs a waver form at the reception desk along with a tag that he takes a picture of for reference.

"What do you mean?" Connor asks as they leave and walk toward security check. Hank takes his hand again and squeezes.

"I used to get a little nervous with flying. Once when, uh…" he stops himself, swallows down the lump in his throat hard and forces his face to brighten with a sunny smile, despite his tired eyes. "I took Cole to Canada when he was 3, and having him to look after and hold took my mind off flying. I guess I'm just thinking if I had Sumo to pet it'd be the same, ya know?"

Connor can see how much just mentioning Cole hurt Hank. It was a rarity for him to make references to his old life, especially if it includes Cole. It was a part of Hank that despite everything stayed mostly locked up, and while Connor wished for some access into his feelings, he understood how painful it must be to reminisce and recover the broken fragments of such heartbreak. Hank's recovery had been a battle, and Connor wouldn't be anywhere but at his side, yet there _had_ been points in the beginning of their relationship that his frustration with Hank's secrecy made him want to leave.

_Of course,_ hedidn't, and he's _glad_ he didn't. Hank's grief is complicated, Connor knows, and outside of his depression and trauma is a man with a kind, compassionate heart, that makes Connor laugh everyday, every mood. A patient man despite his temper at work, who allows Connor time to work through his troubles, and helps him decipher his turmoils with a smile. It took time to fully appreciate the complexity to human nature, but the deeper Connor got into his deviancy and the more time he spent with Hank, the easier it became to understand.

Connor wouldn't want to be hand in hand traveling wherever the wind takes them with anyone else; he couldn't even dream of it.

As they approach the security point, Connor pulls Hank in to kiss him and strokes his cheek with his thumb. His skin ripples back at the point of contact.

"I'll do my best to distract you from your nerves." He says with genuine care. Hank's face shifts mischievously, however, and he chuckles under his breath, jerking his eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, we gonna join the mile high club?" Hank's voice sounds dirty. Connor does a quick Google search and scoffs when he finds what it is, storming off dramatically. Hank picks up his pace to catch up with Connor, laughing.

Security is a tedious job. Androids have an entirely different process to humans, involving full body scans, showing the luminous circle to their thirium chamber, being categorized through an online database to clarify identification, and in some cases a "quick" questioning. It wasn't quite so different from the regular security routine, but with different variables and more long-winded. Hank's waiting around for half an hour before Connor's finally done. Swiftly and with an aggravated huff, he grabs Connor's hand and storms through to the lounge terminal.

Connor feels like a little kid running between the varying shops in the waiting lounge. There's regular day to day stores, but the real show stoppers are the tourist stores, stocked with tacky American paraphernalia for non-natives to lap up. Obscenely flamboyant t-shirts with bald eagles, stripes and stars, commemorative hats once made to make America great again (that Hank promptly flips off when Connor points them out), and more. Connor's favourite are the small plush bears coloured like the flag.

"I'll get ya one if you want." Hank offers nonchalantly. He doesn't expect Connor's jovial enthusiasm.

"Would you really?! Oh wow, I'd love one, Hank! They're very cute-- perhaps we could collect a patriotic bear from every country we visit? Do you think they have them elsewhere with their own flags?!"

Hank laughs. He picks up the bear and walks toward the cashier. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure they'll be all over the world." And he hands the cashier his money while passing the small plush bear back to Connor. When they leave the shop Connor kisses Hank on the cheek and takes his hand in his, swinging it between them and heading to the cafeteria.

An hour and a half goes by before they head to their terminal. Connor’s practically talking Hank’s ear off he’s so excited, and to give him credit Hank is grateful. He’s a little more than nervous to fly - the distant but familiar nausea that churns in the pit of his stomach, dragging everything down with it. He tries to focus on Connor’s jovial bounce but with every looming step toward their gate, everything around him begins to echo, louder and louder, until finally all there is is the ricochet of his fears overpowering him. They automatically join the line to boarding and Hank can taste his heart in his throat. The iron chokes him slowly.

Connor can detect his heart race’s increase. He can see how Hank’s pupils have changed, how his hands are sweaty, and the most obvious how his face is frozen in a permanent expression of shock - it makes him worry. He takes Hank’s hand in his own and he squeezes, saddened to get the minimal of a response that is just eye contact. Seemingly Hank’s brain is buffering, he doesn’t even realise his bluff is delayed when he smiles a little too late.

"Are you nervous, Hank?" Connor asks as he hands the flight attendant their passports and tickets. Hank smiles kindly at her and walks through hand in hand with Connor, laughing dryly.

"I'm fine, no problems my end!"

"Are you sure? Because your vitals do not seem to reflect your words." When Hank's face drops, Connor grins. "You do not need to lie to me, I have no qualms about consoling you."

As they approach the end of the line waiting to board their plane, Hank feels a looming sense of dread wash over him like the tide of the sea. The roaring engines come between them, roll in and out of Hank's ear drums and rattle his heart about just to mock him, and the white hallway walls begin to close in around them, edging him closer to the steel bird of no escape. He stares at the distant face of an air stewardess - sees how his lips are pinned into position with her eyes burning from the faux sunny disposition - and sees unnerving resentment that vows to make his fears a reality.

Trembles make their way down Hank's arms as he approaches the metal rim of the planes entrance. His teeth chatter. The fears are illogically justified, he can't shake them no matter how much he wishes. Even words don't come forth anymore. Connor waits for a response but takes the silence as a confession. He shows the woman their plane tickets and escorts Hank down the aisle to their seat, rubbing his shoulders soothingly.

"It's okay, my love. If you want I could give you the statistics of worst case scenarios to calm you? Or I could assure you by scanning the aircraft to determine its sound structure?"

Hank looks over his shoulder with a look of horror. He shakes his head. Connor nods.

"Noted." He pulls Hank's backpack off his shoulders and gestures to their seats. "How about we talk about happy things instead to take your mind off the flight? If you would like, I could download some books to read you?" He throws his own bag in alongside Hank's and shuffles in to his seat. Hank's brows knit in worry at the middle of his forehead before eventually he has to find Connor’s effort amusing. He rests his hand over Connor’s and relaxes back to settle, find a comfortable position he could fall asleep in.

“I’ll be okay, it’s just been a long time since I’ve flown, ya know? But it’ll be worth it, seeing the world with you.” He leans over to close the space between their faces and smiles comically. “The Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, The Mona Lisa, German beer, Turkish sun and so much more...it’s all at our fingertips!” He gave Connor a once over, then stuck his tongue between his tooth gap to accessorise his giddy grin. “What are you looking forward to the most?”

Connor pondered it over for a few seconds. “I’m not sure. It’s not just the historical trademarks of each place I’m excited for, but the journey we’re taking together.” He pauses as the captain speaks through to the cabin and introduces the routine safety procedure performed by the airstewards, and continues his train of thought when Hank thinks the discussion is over. “Things I’ve experienced thus far I haven’t fully appreciated, and maybe it’s all so different outside of our home. Perhaps the shade of the sun set is a different colour in a colder country, or the sea has differing consistency the other side of the world. All these things I have no idea about, it wouldn’t be worth the trip if I didn’t get to tell you about it all and share the experience at your side! You make living exciting for me.”

“Wow, Con...that’s, uh…” Hank blushes and laughs under his breath, shying away. “I’m nothing special, you know? The shit out there you aint seen, I don’t hold a candle in comparison.”

“To me you do.”

A toothy grin threatens to tear Hank’s cheeks but before he can repay Connor in compliments, the engine of the airplane whirls loudly making the aircraft rumble. Hank sits up in his seat and audibly gulps the nauseating lump lodged in his throat. Connor leans over to kiss him on the cheek and holds his hand tight.

“Before you know it, we’ll be back with Sumo and our feet will be firmly planted on the soil of Ireland.”

Hank finds content and tranquility in Connor’s calm reassurance, but when he finishes his sentiment with “I’m grateful Captain Fowler extended your vacation allowance for our trip,'' Hank's nerves resurface in a new, painful way, boiling through his ribcage and pulling at his heart strings. Connor doesn’t notice, but Hank’s clearly hiding something from him; something important.

~ ~

Sumo is whining when his cage is driven through to the pet pick up station and he sees Hank. Surrounded by other dogs and pets alike, his whimpers call through louder than any and kick Hank in the gut. He laughs when he sees the dopey canine panting and pawing at the metal bars of his cage, preemptively making a fuss as if the 200 pound dog needs to be wound up any further, and Connor watches in awe. “_Dogs often reflect their owner_” he recalls Nines saying once off-handedly, and breathes out amused at the sight before him - his heavy set, middle aged boyfriend slurring like a toddler while the overgrown beast of a dog readies to attack him with love.

When the cage handlers move Sumo off the loader and at Hank’s feet, the dog is barking impatiently to be let out. Loud and boisterous, the bold sound rumbles through the floor. Hank finds it all too fun to keep winding him up. He grabs Sumo’s leash ready and unlocks the cage. Immediately he’s bowled over as Sumo jumps into his lap and floors Hank, licking his face excitedly and wagging at a speed some would think he could take off like a helicopter. Connor takes the leash off Hank as he struggles to breathe through laughter and hooks Sumo’s collar quickly. He gives a light tug to pull him away but ultimately it’s Hank pushing him off and sitting up that stops Sumo. Connor kneels down to give him a hug and Sumo promptly returns his affection in an equal amount of licks, with more control. Connor’s skin retracks at the point of contact every lick.

“Let’s get a move on then, shall we! How was your flight, boy?” Hank asks ruffling his dogs ears. Sumo barks as if to answer him and follows happily at their side as Connor leads him out the Dublin bagging collection point. Hank has both their suitcases tailing behind him.

The car dealership is a few miles away from the airport and with no cabs (or “taxis” as Connor corrects Hank) willing to take Sumo, they’re left with the only option...walking. Sumo appreciates the opportunity to stretch his legs though, practically skipping down the street and sniffing every lamp post and corner their come to.

The first thing Connor notices about Ireland is the accents, of course. Lost conversations float by them this way and that, and Connor takes in the multitude of tones and colours to their words. The way the Irish homelander’s tongues curl around their vowels and stroke the tail end of their sentences, bouncing each letter around in the walls of their throat to create jolly, strong tones that sing in the breeze. He compares the many voices with samples he has of Hank, listening in the back of his head. He notes how much smoother Hank’s accent sounds, but how the energy spikes in the Irish. How questions seem more pointed and jokes have more energy, but Hank’s have less intensity and pressure to fall victim of not understanding. He listens to the sounds on top of each other, mixes them like harmonies of a song, and feels full of information just for entertainment. Hank follows his phone’s GPS onward, unknowing to Connor’s avant-garde music in his head.

The second thing he notices is how green everything is. As they round the corner of Dublin airport’s central building, leading onto the bus stops from the motorway, a great expanse of land encloses the Irish business in a multitude of green shades, glistening under the sunny sky. Cars whizz past unbothered by the daily sight, snug in the middle of fields that seem to roam miles wide, rising and falling in height as they do so to their whim, with some spaces of land housing barnyard animals such as sheep or cows. Hank talks to himself as he tries to calibrate the compass of the GPS and Connor stares off into the abyss logging the different shades to later reference. America is filled with industrial life, booming with business and advancements, that to see somewhere to natural and preserved of its home makes Connor’s thirium chamber ache a little. The sight is breath-taking until he realises the human races advancements have lead to his creation, and if they’d only taken a minute to admire the nature around them then perhaps his existence would be in sacrifice for the sanctity of life. The morbid wandering of his mind leaves him temporarily numb, but just as fast Hank calls him onward and he’s brought back to the cosy warmth of his family; the reminder that his life isn’t in vain of anything if it means he’s happy.

They walk out of the airport’s complex and continue down a sloped pathway. Hank moans when the suitcases clip the back of his shoes but doesn’t stop. Sumo pants but happily follows Hank obediently, barking under his breath when a loud bike zooms past. Connor’s happy to take in the sights around them even if they seem mundane, because where Hank sees regular hustle and bustle, Connor sees all the differences America never tried. The most popular car owned, the side of the road they drive, the slang used by by-passers, and the luscious colour of the land that stays alive and thriving. His sensors go wild with information; its an adrenaline rush unlike any he’s ever known.

Eventually they came across the dealership Hank had pre-ordered with. They stand at the foot of the entrance and stare up at the bright green banner hanging over the carpark and reception building, welcoming them to ‘_Euro Tour-o_’, written in black and exclaimed with lucky four leaf clovers either side of the words. Neither Hank or Connor notice Sumo cock his leg against one of the structure poles.

“Volkswagens are cliche,” Hank says dismissively, despite the fact he’s already ordered said car to adventure all of Europe. They walk through the aisle looking for an employee to talk to, admiring the many cars they could have chosen. “I couldn’t resist seeing you drive one though.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Well cars have personality, and volkswagens are so..._you_.” He laughs quietly and puts his arm around Connor’s waist, jolsting him in closer playfully. “Cute, surprising, useful and-”

“Cliche?” Connor finishes the thought. Hank looks him over once and tilts his head as he’s caught out. “If that’s how it works, where’s the car that eats day old Chinese takeaway even though he got food poisoning from it to begin with?!”

Hank waves him off dismissively. “Ah, can’t just let a little thing like food poisoning win in exchange of good chicken.” He looks around the car park more attentively in search of someone, and spots a young girl with a slick back ginger ponytail in the distance writing on a clipboard. He pushes Connor toward the direction and hauls her down before she’s out of sight again.

The young woman named Theresa escorts them through the lot and toward the bay filled with camper vans. There’s a mixture of types, ranging from old to new, modern to classic, bright and flamboyant to subtle and masculine - and there in the middle is their happy little red camper convenient and cosy awaiting their arrival. It has signs of wear and tear but nothing majorly concerning, and the shine on it’s bumper reflects enough for Sumo to bark at his distorted reflection. It’s a fairly quick exchange, Hank proves his identity and signs the waver, takes the keys and thanks her for her help.

“_You’re welcome. Hope you and your son have a wonderful time!”_

_“This...is my boyfriend…”_

Hank hopes her embarrassment would at least help bandage his own wound, but seemingly she finds the mistake all too amusing and laughs through and apology. Connor laughs too, but doesn’t understand the joke. It’s just his knee jerk reaction. As they drive out of the dealership, Hank starts cursing her out under his breath.

Connor is smitten to say the least by the Volkswagen. After calming Hank for almost driving on the wrong side of the road, he takes a moment to look around himself and admire the interior of the compact car. Behind him where Sumo lays is a cosy kitchen area conveniently packed away to make space for belongings - or in this case a sleeping St Bernard. A removable chair is just behind the canine with one of their suitcases perched on top while the other is packed in the boot along with a complimentary blanket courtesy of the dealership. The decor is quaint. The walls of the inside are a soft wood design with the rims of the doors painted the same colour as the outside of the van. A modern and chic style yet homely, in the kind of way that reminds Connor of Hank’s shirts.

He turns to face Hank. He’s frowning at the road ahead of him, groaning under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Connor asks, reaching into his backpack. Hank grunts and straightens up in his seat.

“Driving on the left is..._really_ fucking weird.” He quickly glances away to smile at Connor but the speed he jerks his head makes it obvious he’s nervous about driving. Connor thought he felt the car jolting here and there but he figured it was his imagination. Hank squints as he sees signs in the distance giving them a variety of directions. “Where the hell are we?”

“I’m not sure…” Connor searches his internal GPS. “Portmarnock.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “Right...Portmarnock...which is…?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Hank.” He pauses again to search his database. “Portmarnock is a coastal suburban settlement in Fingal, Ireland. Rich with history and plenty of critically acclaimed tourist destinations. Perhaps we should take a look. Ooh-- let’s go on a hike!”

Hank swallows down the disgust he wants to express and grins with all his teeth on show. His eyes look lifeless. “Sounds super!”

Connor pretends he doesn’t detect the sarcasm and continues smiling with a smug excitement.

~ ~

The Malahide to Portmarnock Coastal Walk isn’t quite as treacherous as the mountains they drive by on the way. According to Connor's research, it's fairly short in comparison to some hikes Ireland has to offer, and a good majority of the journey is stagnant - no exhausting steep hills to practically die on.

Hank struggles to remember his left and right driving down the old dirt road on the outskirts of Portmatnock village, and nearly drives into an on coming white Beatle. The driver gives him a bemused frown followed by the middle finger, and Hank curses him out in a mocking Irish accent that Connor thinks sounds more Indian. He tells Hank off for his offensive attitude but Hank was too angry at the time to care.

When he parks up on the side of a dusty road welcoming visitors to the hiking spot, he pulls Connor in for a hug. He squeezes him tight and kisses his jawline. "Sorry for being a dick."

Connor strokes his hair. "It's quite alright." He pulls away but stays in his arms. He shows Sumo his leash and inhales loudly when the dog tilts his head at the jingle of the clip. "Are you ready,b "

Sumo barks and promptly jumps out of the Volkswagen to bounce around both their legs. Seeing Hank's left his shins out, he sees it fair play to take the opportunity and lick him excessively, slobbering all over his hairy leg without a care. Connor laughs as Hank jumps back in disgust, pushing Sumo away and instead giving him the opportunity to lick his hands.

"Ah-- fucking hell, no! Jesus, I can't wear damn shorts around you, can I?!"

Connor gets the leash on Sumo quick enough and gives him a gentle tug. He follows obediently, skipping beside both men and suppressing mumbled barks at the other dogs that walk past. Connor points them all out, and Hank, like the champ he is, nods along enthusiastically.

The hike is less of a mountain and more of an elevated seaside coastal walk. The coast road between Malahide and Portmarnock has a beautiful winding pathway alongside the road, which skirts the coastline between Malahide Beach and Portmarnock Beach. They walk along it for a while before finding a sturdy part of the hill that leads them up onto the walkway. The pathway is smoothed down, perfect to walk along stable and not hurt Sumo's paws. The terrain becomes rockier in comparison, accessorised by dramatic boulder strewn little cliffs that the waves below crash against.

Sumo bounces along the walk with jovial pursuit. He reflects Connor's mood. Hank isn't miserable by any stretch of the imagination, but his calves start to ache after about a mile into the walk, and his heart races a little too fast for his comfortability. He stops to catch his breath and throws his head back.

The weather is a little erratic, but for the most part it's pleasant. The warning coming over was Ireland is known for rain, and so far the promise of such had been delivered, pathetically so. Currently though it's dry. Fluffy clouds clog up the distorted blue sky and cause the sun to come and go, but in the distance on the far shore of the beach, mesmerising islands of light dance up the shoreline and lead their journey.

"Are you alright, Hank?"

Hank looks forward to assure Connor but finds himself transfixed by the sight before him. Like a perfect watercolour painting, Connor's silhouette is outlined by the sun's toilsome rays and makes him appear angelic. His slender frame, the halo that makes his sunny smile glow more than the heavens above, and the damn curls on his forehead, burning an autumn brown - Connor may be an Angel, but looking at him now, he looks so human.

Connor eventually walks over, and closing that final gap between them, Hank takes him by the waist and kisses him passionately. His hand runs down his smooth arm, and a light tingle vibrates against Hank's palm as Connor's skin instinctively retracts. His other hand holds him by the waist, keeping him close, trying to pull him closer despite their being no more room. Connor falls into place easy enough, melting under the affection, arching his back to accommodate Hank's height, and lets his fingers curl into the mess on top of Hank's hair. A smile cracks between them, only stopped by an invasive tongue and a moan. Connor can hear Hank's blood rush around the rushed thumping of his heart, and sets his thirium pump to pulse in time with it.

The wind whistles by suddenly and Sumo starts barking at them. Coming out of their bubble, they stay close, staring into the others eyes with such sublime intensity they could shut off every other colour in the world. Connor rests his forehead against Hank's and laughs coyly. The brown in his eyes shines against Hank's blue.

Hank strokes Connor's arm and hums at the back of his throat; the sound similar to that of a docile bear. "I can't believe how much I love you, ya know?"

Connor chews his bottom lip and runs his fingers through the length of Hank's rough beard. "I am state of the art technology. How could you not fall in love with perfection?"

Hank rolls his eyes and lets Connor go. "State of the art _ego_, sure. Come on, let's get to the other end of this walk, grab a bite and make our way back." He holds out his hand for Connor and begins walking their way toward Malahide.

Once at the other end they made their way to an old style beer garden with a bright green "_Dogs Welcome_" sign. Sumo laps up the attention from every local lady inside the pub, and as if conscious of his vanity, looks back at Hank and Connor to make sure they see him. Connor proudly states how good he is and let's everyone know of his achievements as a At Bernard, to which Hank mocks with "yeah, he's a world record for the number of times he's woken himself up by his own farts". They order themselves a hearty dinner and a Guinness to share before sitting back rejuvenated, watching the sun slowly turn a milky orange colour.

They walk back along the treck they came and return to the campervan, eyes heavy but moods elated. Connor rests his hand in Hank's over the steering wheel.

"Where to now?" He asks with a dreary sleepiness to his voice. Hank snorts under his breath and starts the car.

"Wherever you want, baby. The world is yours!"

They drive down south and continue their tour of Ireland.

~ ~

Hank knew touring Europe was going to a tiresome journey, but he didn’t quite account for how fast burnout would hit them. Traveling had been exhausting, and their first night in Ireland is spent well in a 4 star campsite, both fast asleep in the back of the Volkswagen in nothing but their boxers. Sumo spoons Hank amusingly until the sun wakes him up and he’s barking for natures restroom.

Hank wants to sleep more, but the adrenaline from the day before is still in his veins, so he makes himself a black coffee and prepares to set off again. Europe is a big place, and Connor’s got a look on his face like he might explode if he doesn’t discover it all soon.

It’s a little cheesy, traveling the road with an oversized dog hanging his head out the back window and a loved up couple getting lost left right and centre. Hank imagines their adventure as a motion picture, set to a Maroon 5 song - he jokes with it to Connor and says Hollywood would probably replace him with a slim, hunky 20 something. Connor insists Hank’s “already hunky enough”, which amuses Hank grately.

Hank thoroughly enjoys traveling even in spite of his exhaustion, but getting lost when they could avoid it tests his patience...

Connor could easily direct them using an internal GPS, and he has a few times already, but he also wants to try his hand at reading a physical map. The idea of paper maps come as a joke to most folk, and when Connor visits a tourist centre wherever they find one, the receptionists have all tried to resist laughing. The image of an android requesting a "primitive" tool is the punchline of the century. Connor doesn't mind - he's glad to have given them a cheap laugh in exchange for his experience.

However, reading maps doesn't seem to be the easiest thing in the world. Driving through France had proved difficult when Connor directed them to a dead end in the middle of nowhere after being on the motorway 10 minutes from their initial destination. It took 45 minutes to get back. Even worse was navigating through England! Hank was still trying to get used to driving on the left, and with Connor nervously misreading the way to London, Hank slipped back into the ol' American right on several occasions.

It feels like he's mapping out the intricate design of his own body’s structure when reading a map. The tattered cream backdrop with puddles of blue capture and protect a mirage of fireworks. Lines cascade erratically across the grid and lead the way, and despite the aesthetic chaos, each colour is meticulously chosen to serve a purpose. Each path possesses value, and should be followed with the utmost care and attention. When Connor reads the grid and trails for their destination, he feels like he's looking at the wires inside himself. When he fails Hank, when they end up out of bounds or lost in the unknown, he feels his wires tightened. How does he do it without failure? How come he can't predict the probability of his own abilities to follow directions? And will Hank laugh at him for being a silly android?

Of course he laughs, but it's with love. When Connor lead them astray through Belgium, he broke down and began tearing up. Hank couldn't help but laugh before bringing him in for a consoling hug.

"You ain't the only person to fuck up reading a map, Con. It's a story we can tell people someday and laugh at, okay? Don't sweat it."

“You don’t think I'm a useless machine?” Connor had wept as they tried getting back on track. The comment made Hank’s jaw drop dramatically.

“Of course not! You’re remarkable, Connor. As a machine, as a person, as my partner...as you.”

Connor had been quiet after that. Hank’s impatience for getting lost subside in favour of mending Connor’s spirit. He insists they use a map after that, no matter where they go or if they get lost. Connor’s dubious, but Hank’s persistence does the job. Connor may get anxious, but the happy spark that comes when he gets the directions right is a wonderful feeling. It’s what Hank wants, for Connor to enjoy traveling and feel connected to the world.

England, France, Belgium, and now...Germany.

There’s a brisk breeze in the air the weekend they arrive in Germany. Connor stares intensely at his map, studying the German road names and following the lines with his forefinger as he calls instructions out for Hank. Hank drums on the steering wheel while singing 'Prom Dress' by mxmtoon. The windows are rolled all the way down. The roar from his speed on the motorway blows back and sweeps through the hair at the left side of his face. He waits patiently for Connor to give him directions. If Connor didn't look about to chew off his bottom lip, he'd hurry him up to find a destination.

After a long tiresome effort, they find their way to Black Forest, a humble fairytale mountain range, with dark, densely-wooded hills and lush floral gardens planted among the small old fashioned village. The gravelly road leading in has the Volkswagen shaking wildly - Hank swears he hears the bolts in Connor's head rattle with each bump they bounce against.

It’s late afternoon when they arrive so they take to one of the local pubs and share a beer together. Connor laughs as his chambers bubble. Hank talks about how he once came to Germany when he was 30, celebrating a friend’s birthday. Connor discusses how thick the German accent is - replicates the broad, striking sound that bends its words forcefully and moulds them around their infliction - and Hank listens to him with a look like a lovestruck teenage girl…

Connor pauses.

“Are you drunk?”

“Wee bit tipsy.”

He takes him back to the Volkswagen and sets up the back for him to sleep in.

He drives slowly to the outskirts of Black Forest mountain range and parks up for the night, Hank’s safe to sleep in the back with Sumo while Connor sits on the hood of the car stargazing. He turns off his need sleep protocole and spends the evening hours staring into the midnight blanket, counting the burning lights and holding his hand up like he could touch them. They’re brighter her than in Detroit, but he knows that’s light pollution more than anything. All the same, there’s a calming aura that surrounds them. Connor found it ironic, given his research on the Black Forest coming up with ‘Brothers Grimm fairy tales’. He spends a majority of the night while admiring the stars reading the books in his head.

The next morning, Hank wakes up to the sound of Sumo’s distant barking and Connor’s amused laughter. It’s a blessed sound, one he welcomes and cherishes every time it’s presented to him.

He takes his time waking up, stretching out across the chair where it lies back, waiting for the click of his back before slinking back into place, then he sits up and looks out the window. He sees a huge expanse of land with a forest nearby. The grass has a golden rust colour to it that accentuates the green, and shine like it's seen rain recently. There's a distinct trail of footprints, though only soft, from where Connor's run with Sumo into the wilderness. He follows the marks and behold is the sight of such, Connor holding a stick in the air while Sumo pounces for it, stalking his prey playfully with a wiggle in his bum, before Connor throws it for him to chase. Hank watches for a few minutes from the comfort of his seat, then decides to get himself up to greet the two.

He grabs his phone and checks his message.

**(1) Text From Jeffrey Fowler:** _Need you to come in when you're home for a disciplinary meeting. Not yours, don’t worry. Did you tell Connor yet about you know what?_

Hank reads it again and sighs. It’s a later problem. He replies quickly and puts his phone on the side.

He throws on an old band tee and jogging bottoms and covers himself with a thick coat and woolly hat. It's not so cold he'll ache without layers, but the breeze is enough to make him feel better for layering up. He opens the door and stand at its side for a moment to admire the scene before him - lavish, overgrown, ages trees as the backdrop to Connor's amusement and the beginning of the sun peaking through fluffy clouds. It's nothing otherworldly but it's soft like a dream. The distant hum of cars is a whisper among the song of the forest birds, and the smell of rain lingers in the air.

He starts to walk toward Connor but the android spots him first, calling out his name. Hearing it, Sumo cocks his head and gallops over toward Hank, jumping on his hind legs to balance on Hank's shoulders and lick his face. Hank grumbles in protest but doesn't do much to push him away until Connor makes his way over.

"Good morning," Connor kisses him on the cheek and takes his hand. "I hope we did not wake you."

"Nah, bout time I got up any who...where are we then?"

"We are on the outskirts of the Schleswig-Holstein forest, just distant enough for it to be it's own sector of land. I thought it smart to stretch Sumo's legs as much as possible before getting back into the car, given we had been driving for hours and he would begin to get restless."

Sumo is staring at Hank as if to say "yes, he is right, I did need a good run around and on our adventure we saw a squirrel; you should have been there!"

Hank pats him on the head and looks back at the car. "Well if I lock her up we can go for a walk together."

"It's okay, we can hit the road again if you--"

"No, I'd like to. Stretch my legs a bit, c'mon."

Connor takes him around the field to the arched trees acting as an entrance into the woods. Connor watches as numbers flicker in the distant reflection under his eyes - the calculation of the earth's surface heat, where it differs in consistency and the distance of space between each temperature, and the speed of the wind as it rustles through the trees. They’re intoxicating, but not necessarily different from what he already knows back in America. The types of trees however differ- what’s most common and how tall they grow. Europe so far has more nature too, seemingly. Sure, the drive through London provided a familiar industrial vibe, but most places have fields that roaming for miles and miles, with overgrown trees standing like burly bouncers, protecting the finesse of nature and the greenery that roots them. Connor rather likes it. The constant social and economic developments in America make Connor uneasy at times. The open space and fresh air lets him unravel the anxieties that he didn’t know were collecting in his A.I like spider webs.

They trudge through the dirt and mud some more before turning back. Sumo runs wherever Hank throws his stick, happily dirtying his paws with not a care in the world. Connor tells Hank random tip bits he knows about Germany - “Did you know that one-third of Germany is still covered in forests and woodlands?”, or “Germany is one of the world’s leading book nations. Publishing around 94,000 titles every year.” - and swings their arms between them like an enthusiastic school kid reciting the excitement of their day.

They look like an odd pair to say the least. Hank with his rough scruffy exterior, wrapped up best he can to avoid the cold, age defining his face and giving him a distinguished grace that paints him kind. Connor ops for sunny, bold clothes, with an open cream coat with a fur hood, acid wash jeans, pristine combat boots and a youthful glow contrasting the complexity that is his internal power. The beginning of their relationship, Hank struggled to accept their differences. He didn't begrudge Connor for looking so young or being an android, but rather he fought with his own insecurities that rendered him anxious to accept affection. He felt unworthy, and too old, and his heart ached like someone was beating it with a hammer every time Connor looked at him with his wide, hopefully eyes. Everything Connor was made Hank reminisce about his past. It took a lot of soul searching for him to accept he deserved love, and ultimately he realised love wasn't worth it if it wasn't with Connor.

So Connor dances through the moss and trees freely with Sumo jumping at his command, and Hank watches them with a swelling adoration in his chest that almost chokes him up. Connor's happiness to discover humanity gives Hank a new found optimism he thought was long lost.

And somewhere in the midst of an ordinary conversation, Hank looks at Connor in the prime of his bewilderment for life, his excitement for experiencing it at Hank’s side, he realises he wants to give Connor the true lovers tale to end all romantic competition. He wants to be the knight in shining armour and spend the rest of his days with Connor. Hank realises in the heart of a German forest that he wants to marry Connor.


	3. Secrets, Good or Bad.

Connor lays back on his towel and stares up at the sun toiling up above. He soaks up the rays, and transfers the ultraviolet radiation into data for him to read against the screen in his eyes. Around him are enthusiastic families, hyper dogs completely soaked from running in and out of the sea, first time lovers basking in the breath-taking scenery, groups of young friends overwhelmed with being let loose on the world, and the questionable guests who seek out shade and hide themselves from even a whisper of a tan.

The last of which is Hank, residing by the bottom of a cliff to protect himself and poor, panting Sumo from the villainous heat. Connor looks over every few minutes when his eyes alert him to too much exposure of fusion and waves like an excited child. Hank’s barely paying any attention. He’s nose deep in a book, scratching Sumo behind the ears to distract the walking fur coat from the insatiable warmth. Connor’s been taking breaks between sun bathing to sit with his boys, but he wants to experience the fun of the beach with Hank, _not_ with Hank’s supervision.

So far he’s liked it. The view in Turkey is breath-taking, he can see why people are obsessed with posting photos online, or at least he takes a guess that everyone shares the same sunny disposition as him. Everyone deserves the experience of cushiony sand beneath their feet, pleasantly warm to the touch and sometimes scolding for dry skin. The bliss of just laying back with no responsibilities, only concerned with how the sun feels against their skin. The water is translucent blue, dipping in and out of turquoise depending how he angled his view. Small crystal specks shimmer against the ripples of the sea, his eyes catching the glares every so often, but the way they reflect off the clear sky above is like a scene from a painting. Compared to the smog and grey distortion that is Detroit, Connor’s blown away that anywhere so beautiful could exist.

However, experiencing it alone isn’t quite so fun.

With a laugh under his breath, he storms over to Hank and stands over him with his hands on his hips. Hank only looks up when Sumo stands to attention, wagging in excitement.

“Enjoying yourself?” Hank asks, looking back down at his book. Connor groans and takes the hardback from his hands, slamming it shut before tossing it on his blanket. “Jeeze, Con, you didn’t even mark the page, how am I meant to-”

“Come take a dip with me?” He drops to his knees and grabs Hank’s hands. “It seems to be a lot of fun, splashing your feet in the sea. I want to try!”

“Then go do it, you don’t need me.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “According to your society, a grown adult male alone lingering around a scene in which young children inhabit can be considered quite alarming, and-”

“Okay, okay, I get you, no need to call fucking Chris Hanson.” Hank grumbles under his breath and with a heavy moan pushes himself to his feet, glaring at his boyfriend who’s over the moon to have won his way. "Let me go shove our shit in the van first." He hands Connor Sumo's lead and takes the bag of items to their car up the bay in the car park.

When he returns Connor is practically vibrating with excitement. His face the epitome of thrill - as if someone’s stuck a coat hanger in his mouth, his smile is rock solid and unmoving. He lets Sumo off the leash and grabs Hank’s hand, running toward the enticing shore awaiting them. Hank’s not made for speed, so he stumbles behind Connor, cursing him out to slow down or stop, but there’s no stopping Connor achieve his mission...

And when he’s there, he squeals. Other occupants around them stare at the scene, which at first glance appears to be an adult man exhibiting child-like mannerisms, and Hank’s face burns red.

“Hank, there’s so much water!”

“Yes, I can see that Connor, could you tone it down-”

“There’s so much information, Hank! Chloride, sodium, sulfate, magnesium-- ah Hank! There’s Calcium! _Calcium_ Hank! And potassium!” He kicks his feet to splash Hank’s shins. “Isn’t this great?!” He ignores the clearly embarrassed expression of his partner in favour of laughing and kneeling in the water to catch Sumo as he barrels toward them. “Good boy. Do you like all the different properties found in the sea water too? Yes you do, _oh_ yes you do!” He ruffles the saggy skin around Sumo’s face and laughs excitedly when he’s rewarded with a chorus of barks.

Hank rolls his eyes, but he can’t deny being smitten by the sight of Connor completely overwhelmed by something so mundane to him. The water feels nice against his legs, too. The soft rolling tides splash up his skin and soak his hairs.

"You didn't take your shirt off. How will we go swim?"

Hank scoffs. "No one needs to see my fat hairy belly. It's fine, you go swim!"

Sumo jumps erratically around them. Hank winces as the water jumps up and gets his face. As he wipes his face, Connor steps up close to him and pulls him in by the waist, swaying him softly.

"You have a lovely belly." He slips his hands forward and playfully jiggles Hank's stomach, much to the older man's displeasure. He laughs. Hank bats him away and pulls his top down more, protesting Connor's complimentary teases. "No one is going to care about your weight. Come on."

"I might as well just get in with my top on, I can't put it down anywhere."

"But then I can't oogle you and show you off." Connor smirks. He throws his hands around Hank's neck. "The _sexiest_ belly in Turkey."

Hank rolls his eyes but puts his hands around Connor's waist in return. "Is that right? Well shouldn't I stay covered then in case a flock of admirerers fawn all over me and whisk me away?"

Connor snorts and starts pulling at the bottom of Hank's shirt to pull it off. Hank gasps, pretending to be offended while ultimately giving into Connor's want and shimmies his way out of his clothes. Connor runs out the water to leave it on a dry patch of sand, then grabs Hank's hand to pull him in deeper. Hank instinctively tries to suck in and cover the wobbly parts of his gut, but Connor's so overjoyed splashing through the incoming waves, there's no time for him to even worry about his insecurities.

It's warm but not scolding, with whispers of cold spots sending a shiver up Hank's spine. He follows Connor out till they're almost chest deep and watches as he relaxes, letting the infinite water carry his body. Sumo continues to throw himself at the rolling tide hitting the shore line. He barrels through at one point and swims alongside Connor, but quickly makes his way out again in favour to sunbathing.

Connor puts his head back and wets his hair. He feels the electronic matter of his hair ripple through his scalp and buzz along the temple his LED sits. He opens his eyes and sees Hank's angelic glow staring down at him.

"Will you be joining me?" He asks, softly flapping his arms against the water, legs bobbing up and down where he floats.

"I'm already joining you, I'm here!"

"Would you like to swim?"

Hank shrugs.

"Do you know how to swim?"

"Yeah." Hank barks back. "I taught Cole. We uh, took a trip to California once, me and the ex, when Cole was like 3, I think? I can still picture him in his little floaties, waddling down the beach." Hank looks off into the distance as he recalls, and then without word sinks into the water and starts waving his arms against the rippling waves. He looks down at the blue, melancholy holding his soul hostage. Connor sits up and moves in close. He wraps his arms around Hank's neck and throws his legs around his waist - near weightless to carry in the water. Hank looks up at him a little shameful. "Sorry."

"You can talk about him all you want, Hank. I know it's hard, so I won't ever push you, but I do like hearing you stories."

Hank grimaces. He holds Connor's waist. "It's just weird being a parent without a kid. My ex handled the grief better than me." He looks out toward the beach, finding Sumo making friends with a small child, coincidentally. A little girl in a pink swimming costume strokes him on the nose and he sneezes in reaction, making her squeal. Hank's lips lift an inch, though still seeming sad. "We always planned to have two kids, too, but then the accident happened and it felt wrong."

Connor pouts as he lets it register. "We could look into adoption if it's something you want?" Connor's never really considered parenthood before but it's not something that disgusts him. It sounds rather pleasant in a perfect world, but the reality to looking after another being while dealing with his and Hank's own hardships just wouldn't be fair. The happiness of a child's love though, would it be worth it all, the pain that could follow?

Hank frowns. He twirls Connor around in the sea. "Thanks but my days of diapers and scraped knees are over. Shit still hurts, sure, and if I could have my boy back I'd do it in a heartbeat, but I promise you I'm happy like this now. Just you, me, and Sumo."

Connor smiles. He leans over and pecks Hank on the lips. "I'm happy with you too. Shall we talk about something else now or would you like to tell me more stories about Cole?"

Hank hums for a minute, then all of a sudden dips Connor down under the water and yanks him back up, laughing as the android splutters out in shock. His skin glistens with the water droplets and even starts rippling where his prosthetic cover lightens a translucent tone. Hank bellows out in laughter, bouncing his soaked boyfriend on his hip. Connor scowls at him and scoops up an arm full of water to splash over Hank, taking his revenge best served piping hot. Hank coughs up but keeps laughing.

"Why would you betray me like that?!" Connor pushes off Hank to escape but can't get loose of his clutches.

"You're just so sexy with that slick back hair, baby. Come here, give me a kiss!"

"No, you don't deserve one!"

"Can my _sexy_ belly tempt you? _Please_?" He makes kissy noises at Connor and leans in, almost falling in. Connor keeps pushing back against him, but starts laughing alongside him.

"You're insufferable."

"Maybe, but would you have me any other way?"

Connor stops flailing and looks at Hank, softening and putting his hands back around Hank's neck. He kisses him softly and sighs.

"I suppose not."

They spend a few more hours at the Turkish beach until the sun starts to set and the cold sets in. Hank has the fun task of drying odd a soggy Sumo while Connor scans the map for their next destination.

~ ~

Most of their trip so far is spent in one another's company. It's hard to escape each other in a foreign land inside a compact Volkswagen, but they didn't want to. The only exceptions seem to be differing opinions in tourist destinations - Connor loved exploring open landscapes and cataloguing the nature he found along the way, whereas Hank enjoys civilisation, and traditional forms of entertainment. This time though it's not preference and space that pushes them down different paths. Hank needs a reason to escape.

Connor decides to visit the Museum of Warsaw for the afternoon while Hank wanders the Polish streets with Sumo trotting alongside him. The weather is fair, with a dim sun peaking through soft clouds and wind whispering secrets of years gone past to those who listen closely. The cobbled streets are narrow, with crumbled walls and golden brown tones decorating the humble buildings plotted throughout the town. There's a nostalgic magic that runs through the towns of Warsaw that Hank admires.

Driving through to Poland, they manuvered their way through several Polish villages. Connor had his face pressed up against the glass a majority of the ride, LED flicking between yellow and blue like rave lights. He bombards Hank with a multitude of facts about the structural engineering of buildings they pass. He sings their praises every new town they pass, comparing the cosy design in comparison to American architecture, and the warm colour palette that keeps things golden with age. Connor particularly adores the late Renaissance styled architecture that comes and goes between modernised hustle.

However, the Bed & Breakfast they'd succumb to the night before looked like a Victorian dolls house on the inside. The halls were narrow and dark, but the room they stayed in was the opposite with bright cream wallpaper and crystal light shades that reflect off the amble décor. Connor preferred the cute design of the outside more - wondering if maybe Polish shops all had the same juxtaposition once entering - but he rather likes the cabin styled bathroom they have, asking Hank if they could do the same when they return home. Hank has to admit he too is partial to the style, but finds it somewhat pointless for a room he shits in. Connor found said remark to be crudely obtuse.

Ultimately though, with the exception of their eerie Bed & Breakfast, Hank agrees with Connor that generally Poland is charmingly quaint. The busy old fashioned town he's currently scouting through, the streets are paved with stones, with wooden family run stores evenly spaced along them. There's an intimate atmosphere that resides there, and Hank thinks it perfect for his mission - to find Connor the perfect ring somewhere with hospitable affability.

He soon comes across a small jewelry store in the centre of the lane he walks, residing beside a warm hippie themed café and a retail store selling discontinued branded clothes retailers couldn't shift. Entering, there's a gentle ring of a bell hanging over the door, and two shop assistance look his way. The younger one, a mousy haired youthful girl gasps at the sight of Sumo and squeals in delight.

"He is _GORGEOUS_!" She announces gleefully, rushing over and falling at his mercy to spoil him with affection. Hank shakes his head, watching his dog lap up the love to fuel his ego; holding his head high with almost a cheeky grin on his muzzle.

"He's a real charmer alright."

"Whats his name?"

"Sumo."

She gasps. "_Hiiiii Sumoooooo_!"

The other woman soon intervenes when Hank awkwardly coughs to try move along the conversation. "May we help you with anything specific today, sir?"

"Yeah...I'm thinking about proposing to my partner. It's kind of an impulse decision so I haven't a clue what to go with," he tries to assure himself of an uneasy anxiety brewing in his chest with a tight chuckle. "But thought if I saw the ring I'd know."

"Of course. What a wonderful occasion."

The older woman - thin like a rake with a kind face and hair like ribbons - lead him over to a display case with a collection of beautiful rings. Each sat in its own dedicated spot, cosy in its cushioned spot as the glass shone down upon them like an Angel's glow. Hank suddenly feels a sorrowful blow of nostalgic guilt - knowing his first wife didn't have the luxury of a designer ring that cost a fortune. Instead she got his grandmother's ring that despite its emotional value was tacky and outdated. She insisted it was fine, that the thought mattered the most, but he can't help wonder if she resented him for his family's tragic taste in fashion?

He doesn't let it hindrance him for too long though as he starts browsing through the collection rapidly. He thinks about what kind of person Connor is, and what kind of ring best represents the love Hank feels for Connor. He figures something too flashy is far from right. Shiny, modern jewellery is a no too. He figures what Connor wants is something a bit of Hank and a bit of himself combined.

They're all so exquisite though. Designer, polished and cut to perfection, they boggle his mind a little trying to pin point which stands out as the signature piece. Brilliant gems reflecting rays of heavenly light, colours to tempt him, and decorative bands ranging in styles from floral to slim to subtly sublime. Hank can't help but feel like a bull in a China shop, gawking down at a collection that melts his brain. He barely comprehends what the woman behind the till is saying but he figures it's just sales talk to pursaude his wallet what's best. He nods politely but his attention is going through a tunnel.

Eventually his eyes are drawn to one ring in particular. A slick Tiffany cut ring with a diamond glittering like a sun-kissed ocean's tide. The smooth but sharp design made Hank see stars, and he could picture it on Connor, haloing his slim finger, shining as bright as he does. It reigns supreme amongst all the other rings and shuns them in its dust, calling for Hank to buy it.

“That’s it,” He says triumphantly, prodding his finger at the glass over the chosen ring. “That’s the ring, the ring to win him over!”

She nods with a gleeful smile at the corner of her thin lips and takes out the ring in question for Hank to inspect at a closer glance. His eyes almost fall out of his head, they blow up like bowling balls. Suddenly picturesque flashes of the moment move through the diamond like a television, showing him Connor’s overwhelmed face - his smile stretching the full extent of his face, his eyes crinkling and shining like the full moon with tears pooling in the corners - and his joy as he takes the ring and throws himself into Hank’s arms. It’s a delicate piece of jewelry. It looks comical in Hank’s beefy hand, but it still has something so Hank about it he can’t deny. It’s a classic in its own right.

He promptly pays the woman and thanks her for all her help. Handing over a couple thousand never felt so good before. It’s not heavy with burden, but rather bright and hopeful for what’s to come. He shoves the ring in the inside pocket of his coat, lets Sumo have one more ego pamper, then leaves with a smug but charming expression.

After walking around the rest of the village and exploring the other homely stores in the area, Hank heads back to the Volkswagon to met Connor. He sees the android leaning up against the side of the campervan with a book in his hand, head tilted while mouthing like a brainless fish over whatever he was reading, and Hank feels his heart instantly squeeze and rise to the base of his throat. One leg cocked up against the metal of the car, his hair pushed back but still unkept with kinked curls, and he wears one of Hank’s rock band tees with a shirt tied around his waist. He looks up when Sumo barks, and the instinctive, friendly smile that Hank’s so used to receiving suddenly has him choking up.

Connor pushes himself off the van and kisses Hank on his cheek. “You ready to hit the road?” He asks, leaning on Hank while drawing soft patterns on his chest with his forefinger. Hank laughs with a little too much force behind it, cheeks turning pink.

“Catching the travellers lingo, are ya?”

“I’ve been studying up. Let’s hit the ol’ dusty trail was the other phrase I thought about saying but it didn’t feel right on my tongue.”

“No, no, maybe not…” He jerks his head toward the car. “How about I take you to Wawel Castle next? Bit of a journey so-”

“Buckle up, cowbow.” Connor playfully smacks Hank on the centre of his ass cheek and moves to get in the passenger's seat, resting his elbow out the window. Hank shakes his head and helps Sumo into the back. When at the wheel ready to set off, he thinks about how fast his heart races for Connor, right beside the ring that’s about to change their lives forever.

~ ~

Hank makes a stop on their way to Finland to check his bank account. He knows he's fine for money but he just wants to be sure of the transactions made - specifically a certain special purchase back in Poland. He pulls in to a small town on the outskirts of Poland and goes to the tourist centre down the road beside a mini market for snacks. Connor stays in the car with Sumo.

He looks over his collection of national beanie bears sat in the back of the car in a bag. Thankfully Hank was right, they did sell them somewhere in all the countries they've visited, but the branding and quality changed between one another. His favourite is still the Irish bear. He sits with his legs hanging out the campervan and sorts through the different plusher toys, remembering something from the different places.

He can't believe how wonderful their time has been. Sure the driving around could be rather dull or a nuisance, but the thrill of seeing somewhere new, feeling free in a land unknown to them, it was a joyful experience. Connor loves how grass is softer some places, how to sun reflects orange others, or the many differences between accents everywhere he goes. His mind whittles through them like a classic song on repeat.

He thinks back to the night at the hotel in Detroit, how wonderful it was to be waited on and enjoy complete luxury without a worry for responsibilities. When they went to Italy, Hank took Connor out to a 5 star restaurant with a live band. It felt as romantic and stupendous as it had the night they ate at the Detroit Hotel. Arm in arm, moving through the current of a 4/4 wave, swept up with every note like another couple waltzing. The Italian restaurant had been more elegant, but it made no difference in mood when Connor got to wrap himself up in Hank's big arms, listening to the sweet sound of his heart and soft huffs of breath.

Something deep down made Connor feel guilty for his fun. For so long all he knew was being a tool of work, and even in deviancy he remained a member of the place he was assigned. Separating his coding and desires to be a detective had been hard, but harder was this learning to relax and be nothing but a being, enjoying the ambiance of senseless fun. His experience vacationing wouldn't give him life skills or a meaningful, life changing purpose, but it opened up his mind and allows him the luxury that comes with being human: absolute nothingness with no consequences.

He picks up the Irish bear among the many and rolls it in his hand. Sumo sits up and tilts his head when Connor shows him the plush toy.

Then his phone starts ringing - the phone implanted in his head. He logs in to see who it could be and picks up when he sees Nines' caller I.D.

"Hi Nines."

"_Hello, Connor. Are you enjoying your time away?" _Nines' voice is stoic as usual, but chaotic chatter can be heard behind him.

"Yes, very much thank you. It's been wonderful experiencing new things and seeing the world. How has the department been?"

"_Just fine. I was calling because Captain Fowler has tasked me with filing Lieutenant Anderson's paperwork to make his decision official. Captain Fowler says he's been trying to contact Lieutenant Anderson for some time but he's had no luck. Would you get him to call me?_"

Connor's brows knit in the middle. He puts the bag of national bears back and stands to rest on the outside of the campervan. "What decision?"

"_His retirement, of course. He resigned a few weeks before you both left. It's all done but I need some information to fill in the documentation for the city states records_."

Suddenly Connor feels numb. He blinks rapidly, almost doubtful he's heard Nines right, but then it echoes back in his head. 'Retirement', the official death sentence of Hank's long term work, kept a dirty secret. Connor can't make sense of it at first. He stares off into the abyss and tries to rewire the loose cables to his confusion, then hums thoughtfully. His software begins to heat up.

"What's his leaving date exactly?" He asks with as calm a voice as he can possibly do.

"_It's already happened as long as he calls Captain Fowler back; the week before you left, I believe_."

Connor sees red. His rage builds like deep water currents and pulls at the delicate wires coursing through his body. The anger that quickly swarms his mind twists the tight bolts keeping him together and a distorted reality settles in place of the calm. Something ruthlessly strong. It burns so bad like fire lacing his motherboard and creeping up mechanical skeleton. His dreamy desires no longer feel mesmorising, but now feel tainted in betrayl. The feeling of such anger and pain is foreign to Connor, and not so intoxicating as love or lust could be, but the need to purge the emotion was powerful. The acidity of it was residing in his chest, spreading to his stomach, waiting to be spat out with foul, vulgar, and most likely familiar words.

Before he knows it Hank's jogging up to the car with an unexpecting happiness on his face. Connor feels like someone's gripping his thirium pump.

"Well that's all done, you ready?"

Connor scowls, near growling like a feral animal, and turns away from Hank. "I'll get him to call. Goodbye, Nines." He hangs up and turns back to face Hank, crossing his arms and sighing. "Nines called me."

"Ah right, is he okay?" Hank moves round Connor to dig through his suitcase in the back, patting Sumo when he nudges his arm. Connor cocks his jaw in displease.

"Fine, just fine. He needs some information from you so he can file your _retirement_ document."

Hank freezes instantly. Connor can only see Hank's shoulders tense as he realises he's been caught. There's a silence before Connor speaks again. "Would you like to explain _why_ you failed to inform me? I thought you didn't want to retire?"

Hank pulls out from the back with a jumper in hand. He paws the fabric in his grip and swallows down a hard lump caught in his throat. His eyes shift with unease before settling on Connor.

"I originally didn't, and I'm still kind of getting used to it, but I couldn't book enough time off for myself to travel. I've too many fucking disciplinary warnings for Jeff to warrant it. In the end I thought why not just cut my losses?"

Connor's eyes widen dramatically. "And you thought not to tell me about it?! Hank, that's an incredibly huge thing to decide by yourself!"

"I figured it'd be cool since you brought it up originally--"

"There is a major difference between discussing something and actually doing it, Hank! How could you not realise that?!"

Hank goes to speak but nothing comes out. Connor's eyes are so intense, it's like looking at someone else. The loveable goof is good as dead compared to this furious beast. He knows he shouldn't have kept it a secret - he knew he'd have to face the questions eventually, but maybe at fault of his naivety he didn't think Connor would be so outraged. Usually it’s Hank that suffers fiery exasperation, not the other way around. For once he finds himself at a loss for words.

When Hank brought the idea to Jeffrey’s attention, he was just as shocked to have put it out into reality as Jeffrey was to hear it. He’d saved up a considerable amount over the years and still had the untouched savings he’d been holding off on digging into since the tragedy all those years ago. Jeffrey thought it dumb at first, but Hank felt something relieving about letting go of the force once and for all. Scary, but therapeutic. Weighing it up and doing the maths it just felt like the smart thing to do, for his health and for Connor’s gift of the world.

So why was Connor so angry?

“I wanted to surprise you. It wasn’t like I did this to spite you or leave you out, it’s just--”

“I _feel_ left out, Hank! Did everyone at the DPD know?”

“No, we didn’t tell Nines!”

Connor scoffs sarcastically. “Right, so everyone except him, yeah? So Gavin, Chris, Tina, Ben-- everyone we work with day in day out knew you were making a drastic, life changing decision, and I didn’t?! Or did you keep it secret from _all_ androids, actually? Are we not good enough to know? Is it a human thing?!”

Hank huffs. “No, never! It’s not like that--”

“We’re just about as useful as your desk stapler, is that it?!”

“Fuck no, Con! That aint fair, I--”

“Did you take me on this vacation just to show off what you can do? Do you feel superior to me now?!” Connor steps forth and squares up to Hank. His stress levels begin to rise at an alarming rate, and he starts feeling a loss of control. The hurt look on Hank’s expression does nothing but aggravate him more. He puffs out his chest and completely invades Hank’s space. Suddenly he’s the broad one - he’s the strong, scary figure to run a mile from. Hank’s size means nothing compared to Connor’s anger.

Sumo’s ears flatten as he watches the pair, feeling distressed.

“Calm down, Connor, I’m sorry! I’m beyond sorry--”

“That means nothing now! It’s done, I have no say in your choice! I thought we were in this together? Through and through?!”

“We are--”

“No we’re _fucking_ not!”

Connor’s voice is low and seething like lava. His eyes could burn holes through Hank, leave him distressed in the mess of what he’s done to Connor. Everything inside him feels tough, and unknown, and for the first time in a long time, his old protocol instincts kick in…

It’s too dark to think clearly. He wants to disappear, burn up and choke Hank in the trail of his ashes. His LED whirls red, and he realises it’s been like that for the past 10 minutes.

Suddenly Hank’s face doesn’t brighten his day. His face makes him mad. The air makes him mad. Sumo makes him mad.

_ **Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad. Mad mad mad mad mad mad mad, madmadmadmadmadmadmadmadmadmadmadd̶̙̣̾̄͆͑̋̇̽͝͝m̷̥̠̗̖̤̈́͋̾̊̕͝a̴̬̯͍͔̠͍͙̜͌̆d̸͉̥̞̱̱̗̘̣̗̖̲̱͑̍̍̈́̏̿͗̌̃͜ͅm̶̢̲̜̤̳͚̿͂̆̊͜ͅä̵̢̰̹͓͎̝̗̼̺̭͇̈́̐̽̓̔͜͝d̷̘͖̞̥̩̰̑̋͋̅́͐͗m̸̤̱̤̲̯̪̲̭̲͍̂̎̈̑͆̃̕̕͜ͅà̵͈̻͍̲̩̄̉͋͋̈́̓̇̈́̑̍̕̕d̴̞̼̥̙͚̰̳̝̫̆̀͒̌̐̍̓̌̒̾͘͘m̵̪͕̱̻̞͓̏̀̐̑̌̚ậ̶͖͉̮̬̘̰̳̠͆͌̑͌͜͝d̵͍̲̲̃͒̀͒͊̈̋͊̇̋̆̑͆̕̕ṃ̸̧̛̭̯͍͓̩̖͙̻̊̑̽͗̇͗̃̈́̄͘̕͝á̸̧͇̜̜̭́ͅď̶̜̌͆̾̉̓͊͊͐͑͊͂͊̈́͝m̸̛̛͙̜̝̭͍̼͈̠̱̅͋̓̄͜͜a̷̡̢͖̗͇̼̲̿͂̌́ḑ̶̟̖̱̟̙̝̮̠̼̄̽̕ͅͅ--** _

Connor puts up his hand to silence Hank. His brain is so foggy he didn’t even hear his profound apologies.

“I need to go into statis for a day. My systems are overheating.” Despite the calm he gives, there’s a clear displeasure being in front of Hank.

“Oh...are you going to be okay?”

Hank sounds hurt.

_Good_.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll sit in the back. Don’t disturb me; I’ll be doing some reboots.”

“Right...okay…” As Connor climbs into the backseat Hank stands helplessly at the side watching him, heart breaking. “Connor-- baby?” Connor looks at him with a death glare. “I love you.” Hank says, voice fragile.

Connor grunts. “Sure.”

He relaxes and switches off.


	4. Snowy Endings.

Connor is still mad. Regardless of where they're going, regardless of the festivities slowly approaching, making his brain rattle the array of Christmas knowledge it picks at, he remains angry and stubborn to let Hank know it.

He sits in the back of the Volkswagen with Sumo, petting the unkept fur at the top of his head as he sleeps in his lap, and glares at Hank through the drivers mirror. It isn't a mutual anger, rather just Connor holding his grudge against the man of all secrets; apparently. Hank's tried to no avail to win him back, but Connor is through and through determined to hold his grudge until it suits him.

It's not the decision to retire that upsets him. Connor's more than happy to provide for them both, pick up more work at the DPD and be the sole breadwinner of the house. A small part of him even reveals at the thought, having Hank at home waiting for him, wrapped up in bed with Sumo at his side, his trust fluffy radiator as always. Even if Hank decides to get a part time job elsewhere or start a business - whatever, Connor has been and still is happy to provide for them both, it's just the lie that upsets him.

For weeks Hank's been pushing his paperwork forward under his nose, sneaking around and saying his farewells while Connor was none the wiser. His peers, those who he'll see everyday upon their return to America, kept the secret well and truly kept while Connor goes on happy as a clam with his partner in crime. He wonders if maybe Nines did know, actually, but figured it unlikely - Nines wouldn't keep a secret like that without dropping hints and sarcastic comments at every opportunity, and to Connor's recollection, there were none of them. Sure Hank has good intentions, but how many people in the precinct laughed at him behind his back? How often did he walk past a conversation about Hank's retirement and be none the wiser? How many people thought of Connor as a useless android who if he couldn't even figure out his partner was leaving could detect much else on his own?

Overall, Connor's anger at Hank's lies makes him feel insecure. Now all he wonders is how often he was called incompetent all because Hank wanted to plan him a nice surprise? When they return home, is anyone really going to take him seriously as a detective without a human to carry him through?

He keeps his face stern and cold, but his fingers still in the depth of Sumo's long fur as he lets each anxious thought bound over the next, overwhelming him. His LED feels like volcano lava as it burns red.

The night his reboots finished had been bitter, with Connor sitting in the drivers seat wide awake, pretending he was in statis while Hank and Sumo slept in the back. Hank wanted to cuddle up with Connor but the android was too furious to let him cosy up so lovingly. He wanted Hank to suffer, feel alone and rejected while Connor ignored him. His mind wandered the entire time, replaying moments at the station he'd missed - key clues that had been overlooked for the sake of honesty he thought they had. Nothing came up.

He turns his attention to outside the window and continues stroking Sumo's head. He hears a soft grumble from him followed by a muffled bark. Flying by as they drive down the motorway, the landscape that surrounds them are beautiful hills covered with tall candle-shaped spruce trees, coloured bright greens like Christmas lights with white snow shining on the branches. A few spaces of land homed beautiful, old Windmills of a rugged yellow, standing tall and proud against the crisp blue sky on the rocky islets. They were hard to scan at the speed they drove, but Connor wouldn't find much from them even if he could. He just appreciates the beauty they provide.

The snow isn't thick but it's stubborn, coating the trees and fields in a light coat barely two inches high. The roads are completely clear. When they stop they let Sumo have a bathroom break, he jumps around and dives face first into the cold blanket excitedly, flopping over to roll around. Hank has to put a stop to his fun eventually, though his effort is reluctant. Connor cracks a smile at the scene but wipes it away just as fast when he catches Hank's gaze.

"Ah c'mon baby," Hank straightens after putting Sumo's leash back on. He holds an arm out for Connor, pleading. "I'm sorry for lying to you, I just wanted it to be a surprise!"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." Connor retorts dismissively, but when he tries to get back in the Volkswagen, Hank grabs him and spins him around, throwing him against the car. He places his hand on the car beside Connor's shoulder and scowls.

"You suggested retirement to begin with, so what's the big deal?!"

"Hank, leave me alone-"

"Damn it, Connor, I said I was sorry, what do you want from me?!" His eyes soften, begging Connor in a way that doesn't come naturally, and the hand on the car curls into a fist. "I want to enjoy our holiday together, not fight with you! Please, talk to me, let me make it up to you."

Connor bows his head to his chest and sighs heavily. "You've made me look inferior to the rest of the station."

"Wha...what?" Hank drops his arm.

"Everyone was sneaking behind my back, keeping secrets, and I had no idea. How do you think that makes me look as a detective, Hank? The man I love dearly, live with and work side by side everyday, and I had no idea what you were doing...how are they supposed to take me seriously now?"

A silence falls over them, but the tension is ear shattering with the guilty screams. Hank stares at Connor aimlessly, mouth opening but no words come out. Connor's eyes are drowning in insecurities, and it's all Hank's fault. The precious brown that he loves dearly turn grey.

He thought he was doing a good thing. His heart wasn't in the job anymore, not like it used to be. He only tolerated it for Connor sake, to keep him company and watch his brilliance in action. Really where his passion should be, an empty hole sat, whistling for company. He ignored it because he was in love, but with adventure in his heart and an impulsive best pumping his blood, he thought it was the right move.

No one looked at Connor like he was inadequate, or clueless. No one saw him as useless; not in the slightest! It was giddiness to keep a secret. Optimistic sorrow, for the end of a chapter, and the anticipation for what's to come - Hank had his goodbyes to make but it was worth it for Connor's happiness. He was an exquisite detective. Hank wouldn't have left if he thought Connor wasn't capable of handling things on his own. Even Fowler gave his blessing: "Connor's lucky to have someone like you in his life, but I think you're luckier he stuck to you like a lost puppy. I'm glad you're you again, Hank... he's a good kid, he'll be fine."

Hank fiddles with his hands against his chest and grunts. He wants Finland to be perfect. He wants to give Connor the promise of forever. He doesn't want this.

"Con...I didn't-- I should have…" he sighs. "I'm sorry."

Connor's shoulders drop. His scowl softens an inch.

"I wanted to get it over and done with. It's kind of scary, you know? Retirement, it's such an old man concept. 54 ain't that old, but retiring ages ya, and running after a rambunctious, starry eyed thing like you-- I wanted to do something special for you, and retiring was the means to do it.

I guess I shouldn't have kept it a secret, but it was a good way to cope. Meant I could focus on you and the trip. No one could make a fuss because it was a secret, which meant I could slip into retirement without feeling like an old fart. No big send off, no forced remorse, I'd just be gone.

I wanted to give you the world, Connor, and I didn't want anything else to distract you from your experience. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, and sometimes that's fucking terrifying to think, but I wouldn't change you for the world. You're remarkable at your job, and everyone thinks it... believe me. Even asshole Reed thinks you're a top notch detective!"

Connor laughs. The bounce in his cheeks settles the churning in Hank's stomach. He daringly steps forward to close the gap between them and rests his hand on Connor's cheek. He watches how a glittered light ripples under his touch, pulling back to reveal the perfect matte white of his true android body. Connor nuzzles into his palm, chewing his bottom lip.

"No one underestimates you, honey. Please believe me. You're one of the best at the DPD, and not knowing about my retirement isn't a reflection on your skills. If you knew you were looking for something, I'm sure you'd have cracked the code, but the point was to shut the fuck up and not be suspicious. You did your actual job rather than concern yourself with me. Who's gonna look at that and your success rate with closing cases and think you're incompetent?"

He waits but Connor doesn't answer verbally. He stays in the warmth of his touch, replaying his words over and over again in his head until they sound like a lullaby.

Then he wraps his arms around Hank and squeezes him tight, burying his fast in the crook of his neck. Hank's a little taken aback but feels relief.

"I don't want to be useless, Hank. What if I'm no good without you?" Connor's voice is muffled but clearly broken. Hank wraps his arms around Connor's head and runs his fingers through the short tufts of his hair. He kisses him softly on his forehead and shushes him.

"You'll be fine, and it's not like I'll be out of your life. I'll be the other end of the phone, or on the couch waiting for you, or in the car taking you out for lunch. I'll always be there for you, Connor, but I promise you, you're capable of being a detective without me."

Connor pulls back and forces a tender smile, holding back the tears welling in his eyes. Sumo sensing the distress nuzzles his nose between the pair and whimpers. Connor laughs under a beaten exhale and strokes him.

He thinks about how different everything is now from when he was activated, and how overwhelming even the best of times can be. There's an abundance of beauty surrounding him, in the air, in the ground, in the space between his and Hank's face when they laugh. He doesn't know where to look sometimes. Sometimes he wonders what Amanda would say now if she could see him? Would she be happy? Would she disown him? Would she even care about Hank, but rather still insist he's a tool for destruction? Sometimes when he's in the centre of life, he wishes for the luxury of his mind palace. Now it's just rubble in a glitch; there's nothing to confine in anymore.

But there's Hank, and Sumo, and the warmth in his chest when life feels good. Whether his jovial curiosity is just naive innocence or not, he's addicted to the wonder and thrill. He wants to indulge in Hank's humanity, know what it's like to grow and blossom and love.

And rage.

Anger's apart of the experience.

And loneliness.

But it doesn't have to be infinite. It can pass, and he'll feel whole again.

Sumo sniffs at Connor's face then licks him timidly, puffing out a soft bark. Connor ruffles his big head and straightens up. The anger is settled somewhat. He looks at Hank and sees genuine care, and compassion. The galaxy waves in his crystal eyes has him melting.

"I'm sorry for being angry at you...I suppose it was just the shock-"

"Don't even _think_ about apologising, okay?" Hank said sternly, though a hint of comfortable alleviation seeps through like cold water. He takes Connor's face in his hand and kisses him tenderly, lingering for the syncing of their hearts. Connor hums into Hank's mouth and Hank can't help but grin, letting go a low gruff laugh that had Connor's knees go weak.

"Think we could visit a local pharmacy before we check into the next B&B?" Connor's tone is engorged in lust, wrapping Hank up in knots. His eye lids drop and he licks his lips extra slow for effect, successfully gaining Hank's attention when he responds with a growl.

"You forgive me then?"

Connor rolls his eyes playfully. "If you don't believe me, I'll show you later how forgiving I am."

"Oooh, that sounds intriguing. Can't wait to see what you've got in store..." Hank grinds against him and jerks his brows.

"Yes, I'll let you ride my--" Hank covers Connor's mouth and starts laughing awkwardly, a blush rising on his cheeks.

"Yes, Con, I got it. Let's leave a little mystery, yeah?"

They help Sumo jump back into the Volkswagen and make a move, practically ready to jump each other's bones. Connor's anxieties rest and his head fills with fluffy euphoria in its place; loved up and charmed by Hank, as he always is.

~ ~

Connor knew they were going somewhere special, but when he sees the bright signs on the motorway toward Finland's Santa Claus Village he gasps and starts bouncing in his seat.

"Rovaniemi, the Official Hometown of Santa Claus!" He says without missing a beat. He turns quick as a whip toward Hank and beams seeing the smug smirk on his boyfriend's face. "Is that where we're going?"

Hank snorts out a laugh. "Could be. You ready to meet Old Saint Nicholas?"

"I am fully aware Santa Claus is a fictitious depiction of a historical figure, and that his purpose is to entertain children, but I can't help feel excited to meet someone so beloved by humans! Even if he is just an ordinary man playing the role of a magical figure." Connor looks over at Hank again, and a thought crosses his mind. He chews it over for a minute, nervous, then dares to put his curiosity forward. "What was it like celebrating Christmas with Cole?"

He watches as Hank stiffens up. The smile on his face doesn't falter, but there's a tension in his dimples. His eyes glaze over with a storm to come, one that Connor's familiar with, and knows to tread lightly. Hank flexes his knuckles as he grips tighter to the steering wheel.

"Well...it was fun _on_ the day." He flexes his neck and exhales the grief filling his lungs. "Me and the ex used to take him to the mall to see the santa there, and he'd get so excited he'd get nauseous. He threw up all over the dudes lap when he was 4." Hank laughs, a real hearty sound that makes his belly shake. "His…" Pause. Tension thickens again. "His last Christmas I dressed up in a full suit for him on Christmas day. Brought him a sack of presents. You should have seen the look on his face…" Hank coughs as he feels himself begin to choke up. He sniffs back the tears welling and turns to Connor. There's a sad contentness to his smile. "I've got pictures back home, you know...maybe I could show you some time?"

"Yes. Of course. I would like that."

Connor rests his hand atop of Hank's on the wheel and let's the quiet settle the sorrow. He looks out the window and researches all the different amusements and attractions at Santa Claus Village.

When they arrive Hank parks up the Volkswagen at the car park and tells Connor he's going to check them into the hotel. Connor's too busy looking around at the snow and lights he barely even hears Hank as he leaves until the car door slams shut. He watches as the older man trudges through the thick layer, of snow carpeting the entirety of the ground and skips up the stairway to the egloo hotel accompanying the resort.

The winter charm of Lapland spills over the entire village, twinkling through the lights and stars that bare down over them. A moderate rainfall of snow dances in the lamp post’s light, a choreographed number conducted by the timid wind. Every inch of ground became a fresh new page awaiting monsterous paws and slim footprints and whatever else may trail blaze. Connor jumps out to move to the back. As he puts his feet down, a loud crunch calls beneath his boots. Looking around he sees it decorates everything. It covers the rich, deep wood enclosing the village and sprinkled throughout the park in perfect white. It’s a gift-wrap best known to him that only spring can open, but Finland is a constant wonderland that gets to revel in the cheerful spirits forever. Connor’s software picked up the cold as it blew over his skin. The shy frost patiently kisses his sweet face, and looking up at the fluffy evening sky, he felt delicate snowflakes litter his eyelashes and accompany his freckles.

The wooded land around them seems ominously quiet. There’s the hum of music far off in the distance that’s barely a beat above a heart. His steps continue to crunch as he moves to slide open the side door, and Sumo wags excitedly at him. There’s a high pitched laugh that echoes for a second but disappears just as fast. Connor sits on the campers floor, buries a hand in Sumo’s thick fur and looks out into the dark woods opposite them. The leaves of the tall trees resemble eyes staring back at him. It’s beautiful. He imagines a translucent spirit singing through the branches, carrying the song of life, and breathing it into the village with bountiful pursuit.

The things he’s seen on his trip, he can’t believe. His sensors burn with information, but it’s like holding out his hands to a log fire. It’s peaceful despite the coded chaos. He feels drunk on the experience, full with facts and figures and memories to cherish. Just as humans do. He replays the days fast like lightning over and over through his mind.

Most of them have Hank.

Hank standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, hands in his pockets with a crooked smile. Hank laughing in London as Sumo barks at the Guardsman outside Buckingham Palace. Hank in Italy with pasta sauce all over his mouth and in his beard, ravenously stuffing his face. Hank flexing his muscles jokingly on the beach in Spain where a group of buff men work out in the background. Hank driving the Volkswagen singing show tunes obnoxiously loud. Hank asleep in the tulip fields of Neatherland, Sumo resting his head on his belly. All of Connor’s best memories involve Hank in his natural state, happily experiencing the wonders of the world while staying his ever so charming self.

Connor loves traveling, and he loves experiencing things in person versus through simulations in his head, but it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as enjoyable without Hank.

He looks back at Sumo and falls back to hug him tight, burying his face in Sumo’s neck. The dog shuffles to try lick him and Connor laughs as he pulls away. He’s about to stand up and take Sumo’s leash when something out of the corner of his eye catches his eye…

Underneath Sumo’s chest buried in the forest of his white fur is a velvet black object peaking through. Connor squints and tries to reach out for it, but suddenly Sumo realises he’s in possession of something and figures it’s a game. He bends down and takes the object in his mouth and wags delightedly at Connor, ready for an impromptu game of tug of war.

Connor huffs out. “No, Sumo. Drop it.” He crosses his arms. “Drop.”

Sumo tilts his head.

“Sumo, drop it, come on!” He reaches forward to hold his jaw and pry open his mouth, but Sumo shakes his head and backs up. Connor groans in annoyance. “What is that? Come on, give it here.” He holds out his hand patiently, but it’s no dice with the stubborn canine. Connor frowns. _Dogs really do reflect their owners_, he thinks to himself. “I said drop it!”

This continues for a few more minutes before Connor gives up on negotiating and goes back in with force. He grabs the object with one hand and the bottom half of Sumo’s jaw and pulls. The dog replies in jovial spirits and begins tugging in return, growling playfully under his breath against Connor’s force. Connor whines through the task, mumbling nonsense for Sumo to obey him, but it’s a useless effort. The dog just shakes his head to win to war, and Connor tumbles backward in the camper. He’s not even softened by the happiness he exerts from winning their ‘game’.

Connor sits up and holds his shoulders high to intimidate him. “Bad boy, put that down _now_!” He orders with a vicious sternness to his tone.

Sumo’s tail stops wagging immediately. His ears flatten down against his head and slowly he lowers to place the object on the ground. He whimpers softly and Connor instantly feels guilty. He picks up what appears to be a black box but focuses on Sumo’s upset expression.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sumo, I didn't want to upset you. I just worried you'd choke on--" he stops abruptly when he sees that the mysterious object is a small velvet box. His eyes go wide, pupils shrinking, and his thirium pump starts drilling frantically with a sound similar to an overheating computer. His face is completely blank, because despite the reality that whispers temptations from within, he can't believe his eyes.

With a shaky hand he slowly opens the lid of the box and squeals when he sees just a glimpse of the diamond sat on the ring. The box shuts quickly with a sharp this. He stares at Sumo for answers, mouth agape, slowly curling into a bewildered smile.

"Oh my god…" he covers his mouth and screams into his hand, following off with hysterical laughter. "Sumo, look! Hank's going to propose! Can you-- this is just-- I can't believe--"

"Kay, Con!" He hears Hank call him in the distance. The sound of crunching in the snow gets closer and Connor erratically shoves the ring into his pocket without a second thought. He sits up in his spot and places his hands in his lap. His thirium pump still roars.

"They're all ready for us, are you-" Hank stops when he sees the eerie scene of Connor sat upright like a pole is down the back of his shirt, smiling wide like a Barbie doll. His eyes drill holes through Hank. "Uh...you good, babe?"

"Yes! Definitely! I'm absolutely 100% okay! Shall we make a move? I am thrilled to go in with you and experience life with you, together, at your side!" He jumps out of the van and grabs their suitcases, charging ahead and up the stairs. Hank watches dumbfounded, slowly putting a leash on Sumo before following him.

~ ~  
Connor decides he loves the picturesque depiction of winter and Christmas. The few days they stay in Santa Claus Village he feels like he's living more freely than he ever has before. He tries skiing for the first time in his life. The unharnessed bliss of gliding down the mountain, mind cleared everything while the clear, crisp winter air brushes by. It's a sensational rush alongside watching Hank flounder in his skis.

He loves making snow angels and throwing snowballs at Sumo, who tries to catch them and chews on the fragments of snow smushed around his mouth. He loves drinking hot chocolate while taking an evening stroll through the village, admiring the quant aesthetic arm in arm with his love. He enjoys riding a sleigh led by Siberian Huskies, bounding through the thick white blanket on the ground.

Their hotel is beyond gorgeous too. Themed like an igloo, their room contradicts with warm, soft tones - elegant greys and browns to surround the place. Wooden furniture makes the place feel remote and cosy. Above them is a glass-roof, perfect for them to cuddle up on cold nights and make love beneath the crystal midnight sky. On snowy mornings Connor likes to watch the delicate snowflakes trickle down from the heavens and settle on any surface they find. Slick, black panels ride up the dome glass, and the frame of their door and bed headboard matches.

Then the night he meets Father Christmas comes.

It’s a joke they lovingly share, though Connor is quite genuinely excited just to say he’s met the one and only. The grotto is similar to the other picturesque cosy buildings that inhabited the village, but with a particularly friendly aura plucked out of nostalgic memories to breed trust and anticipation. A warm ribbon of smoke rises from the old chimney. The walls are made of the same wood as the roof is covered in for decor, though a different colour. It looks like something pulled straight out of a fairytale, sprinkled in an extra touch of love and magic. Small green and red lights line the edging of the humble building with large crystal balls sat on the tips of each corner of the building, and along the window paneling are some soft fairy lights fading in and out, mixing between red and green in alternating patterns.

Either side of the entrance were two enormous Christmas trees adorned with glistening ornaments and glowing fairy lights draped around it. Their green branches practically haloes the grand wooden door, and at their base lay an array of decorative presents, neatly packaged and arranged.

Connor walks through the door into the main entrance, holding his breath in his throat, and gasps at the twinkling magical display before his eyes. The walls are a silky chestnut colour with intricate carvings weaving over every space available, gentle waving patterns that take the eyes of many on a toilsome goose chase. More lights cascade down the walls like waterfalls, blinking in and out calmly, glowing a sunny yellow, and along the ceiling edge that meets the walls are more lights, pale white and stagnant in motion. There’s a Mahogany colonial pedestal desk piled with colourful letters, open and closed, scribbled drawings and messy handwriting clearly of children asking for toys, and a Tiffany table lamp brightening the hopeful letters. There’s an oversized ruby fur coat hanging up on a coat rack, stockings above a fireplace all of different sizes and colours, and other festive memorabilia to paint the illusion of Santa Claus. Even though he’s fully aware that this is a show for families, Connor’s eyes are alight, his every muscle needing to move to ready himself for the occasion.

After a few minutes the man himself walks through the archway leading through to the second room, parting the silky frosted curtains to reveal himself. Connor inhales upon the sight, and turns around to Hank as the older man can’t see the six foot broad male stood before him. His frame is sturdy, and he is huge in every way, wide and tall, legs as big as Connor’s waist, and arms hefty with fat and muscle, like old tree trunks. He wore long black trousers tucked into his leather boots with fur cuff, a white undershirt with suspenders struggling to maintain their pose against his grand size, and had a snowy, respectably bushy beard that his white hair merged into as if to engulf the delicate, wise face looking at them both. Sat on the end of his nose is a gold framed pair of circle glasses. His smile is obstructed by his beard but his cheeks pronounce enough to beam through the jolly cheer he must own.

He reaches for the jacket hung up and slips it on. “Well aren’t you boys a little old to be visiting me?” He asks with a cheerful laugh in his voice. His voice booms through like Sumo’s barks, but resonates warm in their chests. Hank’s about to speak but Connor steps forth and starts announcing all the things his head can no longer contain.

“Dear old Saint Nicolas, it’s an honour to meet you!” He takes the jolly man’s hand and shakes it. ‘Santa’ stares at the speed he goes with confusion, then notices the flashing LED on Connor’s temple. He nods knowingly.

“You know, I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting an adult android.” His accent is notably British. “Not many folk in Finland had access before, and I suppose now with your rights not many of you travel out here.”

“Well me and my partner have been traveling Europe. I had never left America so Hank,” he gestures behind him to his timid boyfriend, “organised this whole trip! We still have a few destinations left! Oh and we have our dog, Sumo! He’s a wonderful dog, a true good boy, isn’t that right, Hank?!”

Hank tries suppressing his need to laugh. "Oh yes, he's the best."

Connor turns back to Santa with a wide toothy grin. "Its been an amazing vacation! I couldn't have asked for a better time and of course a more loving boyfriend to cherish it with."

Santa puts his hand on Connor's shoulder and smiles pleasently. "That's splendid. I'm delighted for you both. How about we take a photo then to cement the occasion?" He beckons Hank over and a slim young woman comes out with a camera around her neck. Her attire is that of an elf.

Hank does as he's told and stands one side of the suited man, Connor on the other. He smiles and then stands to the side as Connor continues to talk the man's ear off. He can't help but admire him in the moment, heart eyes forming in his pupils, absolutely enchanted by the joy and beauty that is Connor. This is him, the deviated wonder boy with stars in his eyes and love pouring out his heart, and Hank is blown away every day to be able to call him his. He truly loves Connor, and he can't wait to spend the rest of his life with him.

When they eventually leave they make a slow walk back to the hotel. Hank had thought about making a grand gesture with his proposal but there's something so suitable about the mundane walk that has him bursting to pronounce his love. It feels right to make his promise to Connor there in the thick of the snow, silence as their backdrop and a dim mood light wrapping them up in one another.

Hank stops and tugs Connor to do the same. He takes his hands and holds them in his with a firm grip, and takes a calming deep breath.

"Con...I uh, I want to tell you something." He swallows down a dry lump building in his throat. Connor raises a brow but smiles all the same at him.

"Sure, Hank. I'm listening."

"Okay...well, I just...you know I'm bad at talking about my feelings and shit."

"You are terrible at that, yes."

Hank laughs. "Right. Well the thing is, I wanted to tell you just how much I love you. Because I do. I love you a whole lot. I haven't felt so good in a long time." He takes a deep breath, gathering his bravery. "That's why…" He gets down on one knee.

Connor's eyes widen and gleam. "Oh-- oh Hank!" He takes back one of his hands and covers his mouth.

Hank starts searching his coat pocket. "Connor, being with you gives my life meaning. Seeing Europe with you, traveling in a damn Volkswagen with a smelly dog in the back, I wouldn't have dreamed of it before you. Watching you enjoy yourself...I want to watch you forever-- be with you every step of the way. So, Connor…" he frowns as he struggles to find the box in his coat pocket. He grunts. "Uh, will you…" he takes his hand away from Connor and frantically checks his other pockets, swearing under his breath when he finds nothing. "Fucking hell, I ballsed this up. Uh, I think I--"

"I've got you." Connor takes the box out of his own pocket and kneels down with Hank, placing it in his hand. Hank's eyes go wide and his face burns pink, embarrassed. He laughs under his breath and takes the box fully to open up.

"So you already…?"

"I had to wrestle Sumo for it."

"Wha-- Sumo?!"

Connor nods. "Seems he's got a thing for putting your surprises in his bed."

"Oh, good call back, babe." Hank leans in and kisses Connor deeply. He rests his hand on his cheek and pulls back an inch to admire the gorgeous brown stars gathered in Connor's bright eyes, foreheads staying close. "See, you've always got my back."

"I was planning on surprising you in return. Thought it might be funny. I prefer this though than a practical joke proposal."

"Ain't it just typical I go and fuck up my proposal?" As Hank laughs at himself, Connor shakes his head and takes his hands, kissing them each and holding them close to his thirium pump. Hank can feel the speed it whirls.

"This is perfect, my love. This is us. Ask me, please."

Hank bites his lip. "Connor...will you marry me?" He takes his hands to open the box, revealing the beautiful ring glistening in the lights guiding their way. Connor starts tearing up and nods frantically, holding out his hand.

"100% yes! Yes I will marry you, Hank Anderson."

Hank slips the ring on Connor's finger and takes him in his arms, kissing him feverishly. Lost in the moment, he loses his balance and tumbles over on top of Connor. The snow crackles underneath them and jumps up at the impact, covering them both. They laugh in sync before returning to kissing.

"You're stuck with me now, babe." Hank whispers as he brushes his hair back behind his ear. Connor just keeps smiling and slips his hand down to hold Hank's chin.

"You, me, and a smelly dog. I wouldn't have it any other way."


End file.
